THE  ROCK  OI 
CfflCKAMAUGA 


f/«;; 

I 


5" 


GENERAL 
CHARLES  KING 


7 


V 


THE  ROCK  OF 
CHICKAMAUGA 


BY 

GENERAL  CHARLES  KING 

AUTHOR  OF 

"The  Colonel's  Daughter,"  "Tonio,  Son  of  the  Sierras," 
"The  Iron  Brigade,"  "Norman  Holt,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

GILBERT  GAUL  and  CHAS.  J.  POST 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYBIGHT,  1907,  BY 
G.  W.  DILLJNGHAM  COMPANY 


July,  1907) 
'•"    The  Bocfc  of  Chioicanwuga 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

"The  Noblest  Roman  of  Them  All1 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  I 9 

Chapter  II 23 

Chapter  III 35 

Chapter  IV 47 

Chapter  V 56 

Chapter  VI 67 

Chapter  VII 80 

Chapter  VIII          ....  91 

Chapter  IX 103 

Chapter  X 116 

Chapter  XI 128 

Chapter  XII 139 

Chapter  XIII 152 

Chapter  XIV          ....  163 
Chapter  XV      .        .        .        .        .175 

Chapter  XVI  186 

Chapter  XVII 200 

Chapter  XVIII       .        .         .        .  212 

Chapter  XIX 224 

Chapter  XX           ....  234 

Chapter  XXI 244 

Chapter  XXII        ....  258 

Chapter  XXIII 270 

Chapter  XXIV       ....  283 

Chapter  XXV 293 

Chapter  XXVI       ....  306 

Chapter  XXVII          .         .         .         .  316 

Chapter  XXVIII     ....  326 

Chapter  XXIX           .        .        .        .  335 

Chapter  XXX  34^ 

Chapter  XXXI           ....  357 

Chapter  XXXII  367 

Chapter  XXXIII         ....  3^4 

L'Envoi                                  .        •  393 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGB 

Guarded  by  the  encircling  lines  of  the'men  he  loved,  the  Lion  slept 

against  the  battle  morn  of  the  coming  morrow     .      Frontispiece    292 

He  lifted  the  glowing  lamp  close  to  the  window;  let  it  shine  steadily 

five  or  ten  seconds;  then  sharply  turned  it  down      ....    127 

"Young  gentlemen  of  your  impulsive  temperament  would  be  wise  to 
avoid  controversy,  especially  when  they  themselves  have  much 
to  explain" ,  .  .  148 

There  sat  the  indomitable  soldier  in  charge  of  the  center,  and  forget- 
ful of  everything  but  Palmer's  plight  and  urgent  message  .  .  198 

The  bullet  tore  its  way  up  Freeman's  extended  arm     ....       259 


THE  ROCK  OF  CHICKAMAUGA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  fifes  had  ceased  their  shrilling.  The  hoarse 
thunder  of  the  drums  had  rolled  away  with  the  wet  night 
wind,  westward  blowing.  Through  tautened  canvas, 
here  and  there,  on  the  pasture  lands  along  the  stream, 
the  dull  glow  of  candle  light,  the  murmur  of  many 
voices,  told  of  human  occupancy  where  the  week  before 
the  brood-mares  and  their  spindle-shanked  offspring 
were  the  only  authorized  tenants.  Flitting  about  the 
company  streets,  like  fireflies,  the  lanterns  of  the  "order- 
lies" darted  from  point  to  point,  bringing  up  invariably 
with  sudden  stop  at  the  northward  edge  of  the  populous 
rectangle,  and  gruff  voices  could  be  faintly  heard  an- 
nouncing such  and  such  a  company  "all  present,  sir," 
with  occasional  variation.  Tattoo  roll-call,  as  known  in 
the  old  army,  was  just  over.  A  typical  regiment  of 
western  volunteers  was  getting  ready  to  go  to  bed.  The 
adjutant,  muffled  in  the  cumbersome  cape  overcoat  of  the 
Civil  War  days,  stood  trickling  rain-drops  on  the  open 
space  well  forward  from  the  colonel's  tent,  and  to  him 
the  company  commanders  were  in  turn  doing  unwilling 
deference  and  making  the  final  report  of  the  day.  "The 
Old  Man,"  as  they  styled  their  new  colonel,  would  so 
have  it  and  they  could  but  obey. 


io  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga* 


When  the  last  of  the  ten  had  said  his  say,  the  young 
officer  briefly  footed  up  the  result  on  the  bespattered  page 
of  his  note-book;  faced  slowly  about;  considered  a  mo- 
ment; said,  "That's  all,  Mullins,"  to  the  boy  fifer  who 
had  been  standing  by,  lantern  in  hand.  Then,  with  a 
certain  hesitancy  in  gait  and  manner,  approached  the  big 
white  marquee,  where  sat  three  men  at  a  pine-wood  table, 
faintly  lighted  by  lanterns  swung  from  the  ridge-pole. 
Underneath  the  forward  tent-fly  the  adjutant  halted,  for 
the  colonel  was  speaking  earnestly. 

"This  rain  won't  hurt  the  pike,"  said  he.  "The  wagons 
can  make  it  as  well  as  we  can  march — at  least  to  the 
Cumberland.  We  could  start  at  dawn " 

"Hush!"  said  the  elder  soldier  present. 

The  colonel  stopped  short,  turned  and  glanced  impa- 
tiently toward  the  outer  darkness.  The  lamplight 
gleamed  on  the  gilt  bugle  above  the  dripping  cap  vizor 
of  the  lone  officer  underneath  the  fly. 

"Oh— ah,  yes!  Mr.  Adjutant,  what  is  the  report?" 
was  the  somewhat  confused  greeting. 

"Lieutenant  Freeman,  two  corporals  and  seven  pri- 
vates absent,  sir." 

The  colonel  lifted  three  legs  of  his  camp-chair,  and 
pivoted  on  the  fourth  as  he  faced  his  saluting  staff- 
officer.  His  companions,  juniors  in  rank,  but  his  seniors 
in  years,  exchanged  a  quick  glance,  essayed  as  quickly  to 
appear  absorbed  in  thought  and  to  gaze  at  vacancy,  or  the 
rearward  tent  wall  where  stood  the  colors  furled  and 
cased,  where  hung  a  newspaper  map  headlined  "The 
Seat  of  War  in  the  West,"  but  they  lent  attentive  ears, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  n 

"Mr.  Freeman?"  said  the  colonel,  after  the  manner 
of  the  regular. 

"Lieutenant  Freeman,"  answered  the  adjutant,  after 
the  manner  of  the  volunteer. 

"Doesn't  Captain  Manning  know  where  he  is?" 

"Perhaps,  sir,  but — he  doesn't  say."  The  adjutant's 
hand  was  still  at  salute,  respectfully,  and  his  eyes  were 
still  on  the  colonel,  unflinchingly.  Each  man  at  the  mo- 
ment admired,  and  neither  quite  liked,  the  other.  The 
situation  was  not  unusual  in  the  untried  force  assembled 
late  in  '61  under  the  leadership  of  Don  Carlos  Buell. 
Certain  regiments  that  had  come  to  the  field  in  charge  of 
colonels  whose  commissions  were  the  award  of  political 
activities,  past  or  prospective,  found  themselves  decapi- 
tated, as  a  result  of  being  found  otherwise  unfit  for 
service.  That  the  inefficient  colonel  should  be  sent  home, 
if  he  knew  too  little,  or  sent  higher  to  the  grade  of  briga- 
dier if  he  knew  too  much  (party  politics  counting  two 
and  army  tactics  one)  the  regiment  neither  much  re- 
gretted nor  much  opposed.  What  it  did  oppose,  at  first, 
was  its  being  speedily  supplied  with  a  new  head,  without 
either  the  advice  or  consent  of  the  rest  of  the  body.  The 

th  Illinois  had  expected  to  hail  Lieutenant-colonel 

Parton  as  the  coming  man,  Parton  being  vastly  popular 
and  politic.  The  regiment  was  affronted  when  there 
came  instead  a  stranger,  barely  thirty  years  of  age,  still 
wearing  the  shoulder-straps  of  a  first  lieutenant  of  artil- 
lery, a  regular ;  a  West  Pointer ;  presumably,  therefore,  a 
martinet.  Lieutenant-colonel  Parton  resigned  forthwith, 
and  his  resignation  was  forwarded  "approved,"  Lieuten- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


ant  Allis,  regimental  adjutant,  resigned  likewise,  and  his 
resignation  was  returned  to  him  as  "tendered  under 
probable  misapprehension."  The  regiment,  even  to  the 
chaplain,  had  resolved  on  an  attitude  of  formal,  frigid, 
and  most  distant  respect,  as  the  one  best  calculated  to  im- 
press the  new  incumbent  with  a  proper  sense  of  his  un- 
desirability,  and  the  new  incumbent,  so  far  from  being 
in  the  least  disturbed,  had  disconcerted  the  regiment  by 
seeming  eminently  well  content  with  the  demonstration. 
He  had  taken  hold  quietly,  firmly,  without  the  faint  jst 
"fuss"  or  friction;  had  taught  adjutant,  quartermaster, 
sergeant-major,  drum-major,  officer  of  the  day,  officer 
of  the  guard,  corporal  of  the  guard,  sentries,  even  drum- 
boys,  something  new  and  hitherto  unheard  of  about  their 
work  or  duties.  Within  the  week  that  the  protest  went 
to  Springfield,  signed  by  seven  out  of  every  ten  of  its 
officers,  the  regiment  was  beginning  to  realize  that  it 
didn't  know  half  as  much  as  it  thought  it  did,  and  no- 
where near  as  much  as  did  the  new  colonel,  and  when 
presently  there  came  to  them  by  the  hand  of  the  gov- 
ernor's secretary  a  brief  reply  to  the  effect  that,  under 
somewhat  similar  circumstances,  he  had  made  one  U.  S. 
Grant,  of  Galena,  colonel  of  the  Twenty-first,  to  the  vast 
benefit  of  that  regiment,  he  now  looked  for  like  results 
from  the  appointment  of  Howard  Rolfe,  of  Galesburg,  to 
the  command  of  the  -  th,  the  regiment  concluded,  and 
wisely,  to  let  the  governor  have  his  way,  thinking  none 
the  less  of  their  new  commander  because  he  so  ob- 
viously thought  so  little  of  them  and  their  futile  oppo- 
sition. All  the  same,  they  had  set  their  faces  and  steeled 


•The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  13 

their  soldier  hearts  against  him;  were  resolved  to  resent 
his  discipline;  were  determined  to  dislike  his  drill,  and, 
as  luck  would  have  it,  a  spell  of  sweet  weather  had  come 
with  the  colonel,  a  fortnight  of  almost  Indian  summer 
days  had  made  exquisite  the  once  dreaded  November; 
the  slow,  solemn  battalion  evolutions  through  which  they 
had  dragged  under  the  orders  of  their  late  lamented  be- 
came all  on  a  sudden  charged  with  electric  life  and  spirit. 
The  new  colonel  knew  his  business  "from  a  to  izzard," 
taught  like  a  flash,  voiced  like  a  clarion,  rode  like  a  cen- 
taur, and  the  rank  and  file  were  the  first  to  respond. 
"He's  got  old  Izzy  triple-discounted  from  the  start,"  said 
they ;  and  it  wasn't  a  week  before  even  the  reluctant  Par- 
ton,  looking  on  from  the  sulky  view-point  of  a  distant 
corner  and  general  disgust,  was  wishing  to  God,  as  he 
later  admitted,  he  could  recall  that  resignation;  but  there 
sat  that  cold-blooded,  methodical,  martinet  Buell  up  at 
Louisville  refusing  to  hear  of  it.  The  only  thing  left 
Parton,  therefore,  was  home  and  a  later-day  try  for  an- 
other regiment.  "Young  Brick-top's  a  hummer  on 
drill,"  said  Captain  Skinner,  of  Sangamon,  mopping  a 
dripping  brow,  "but  if  ever  he  talks  to  me  as  he  did  last 
night  to  Butler,  I'll — show  him."  It  wasn't  ten  hours 
thereafter  that  Skinner  was  talked  to,  not  loudly,  nor 
loosely,  but  with  exasperating  calm  and  incisive  point, 
and  Skinner  did  thereupon  most  bunglingly  essay  to 
"show,"  and  was  sent  to  his  tent  in  close  arrest,  from 
which  martial  seclusion  he  emerged  two  days  later  only 
upon  profuse  apology  and  promise  to  amend,  with  his 
ears  tingling  from  the  colonel's  admonition. 


14  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Four  weeks  had  they  "sampled  him,"  as  Captain  But- 
ler expressed  it,  without  finding  a  flaw  in  his  armor. 
Then  came  the  case  of  Lieutenant  Freeman  and,  with  it, 
the  first  symptom  of  weakness. 

Account  for  it  they  could  not,  but  the  colonel  had  a 
soft  spot  for  the  first  lieutenant  of  Manning's  company, 
a  youth  whom  none  of  them  seemed  to  know.  He  had 
been  of  the  engineering  force  of  the  Illinois  Central  Rail- 
way, had  helped  raise  the  company,  had  been  duly  elected 
lieutenant,  had  been  East  on  some  mysterious  mission  be- 
fore they  left  Springfield  for  the  front,  had  but  recently 
rejoined,  and  that  was  about  all  they  could  tell. 

"My  compliments  to  Captain  Manning,"  said  the 
colonel,  after  a  moment  of  silence,  as  the  orderly  came 
at  his  call.  "I  wish  to  see  him  a  moment — here."  The 
young  soldier,  summoned  from  the  shelter  of  a  little  tent 
pitched  to  the  left  rear  of  the  colonel's  marquee,  bobbed 
his  head  and  backed  out  from  under  the  fly.  "One  mo- 
ment, orderly,"  said  the  colonel  placidly.  "Come  back 
and  try  that  again." 

Blushing  crimson,  the  country-bred  boy  returned,  drew 
himself  up,  raised  his  hand  in  the  old-fashioned  salute 
of  the  early  war  days,  his  eyes  fixed  on  those  of  his  com- 
mander; then,  with  an  "about  face"  that  did  not  even 
omit  "the  right  hand  steadying  the  cartridge-box,"  de- 
spite the  fact  that  the  cartridge-box  wasn't  there,  marched 
away  into  the  drip  and  drizzle  of  the  December  night. 

The  elder  staff-officer  grinned.  "Think  you'll  ever  get 
that  into  *em?"  he  asked.  "Most  men  have  quit  trying/' 

"Wait  and  see,"  said  Rolfe.     Then,  "I  won't  detain 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  15 

you,  Mr.  Adjutant.  Find  out  about  the  absentees.  They 
can't  be  far  from  camp.  Good  night,  sir."  And  Lieuten- 
ant Allis,  who  used  to  be  bidden  to  come  in  and  sit  down 
a  while  when  the  former  colonel  occupied  that  tent,  went 
homeward  wishing  he  had  been  less  offish  at  the  start; 
the  new  colonel  had  now  so  little  need  of  him. 

The  moment  he  was  gone  Rolfe  whirled  his  chair  about 
again,  the  pivot-leg  digging  deeper  into  the  soil,  and 
faced  his  soldier  visitors,  silent,  yet  with  questioning  eye. 

"You  were  close  to  letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,"  haz- 
arded the  younger  of  the  two. 

"It  would  have  gone  no  farther  than — him,"  said  Rolfe, 
his  head  nodding  toward  the  departing  adjutant.  "He's 
square  and  sound." 

"Thought  you  didn't  like  him,"  suggested  the  senior 
major,  with  a  keen,  quick  glance  from  under  shaggy 
brows.  "Rather  that  he  didn't  like  me,"  was  the  answer. 
"He's  getting  to,  in  spite  of  the  others  and  himself. 
Moreover,  he's  the  best  of  the  lot  for  the  business." 
Rolfe  threw  off  his  forage-cap  with  something  much 
like  impatience,  and  tossed  it  on  the  table.  Major  Cutler, 
senior  staff-officer  that  he  was,  older  man,  and  soldier, 
was  none  the  less  his  junior  in  rank  to-day  and  meddling 
in  matters  that  did  not  concern  him.  Cutler  was  one  of 
the  characters  of  the  old  army,  and  one  of  Cutler's  idio- 
syncrasies was  that  which  Rolfe  most  keenly  resented — 
Cutler  did  like  to  meddle.  Being  older,  presumably  wiser, 
and  certainly  on  the  staff  of  the  commanding  general,  he 
deemed  it  his  prerogative.  Moreover,  he  had  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  Rolfe's  commission.  Unbeknownst  to 


1 6  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

him,  to  this  moment,  Cutler  had  written  personally  to  the 
Governor  of  Illinois,  with  whom  he  stood  on  semi-con- 
fidential terms :  "You've  got  to  get  rid  of  old  Gummidge 
— Buell  simply  will  not  have  him — and  if  you  wish  to 
revive  that  regiment  my  advice  to  you  is  to  give  the  com- 
mand to  young  Rolfe,  of  Galesburg.  There's  a  West 
Pointer,  a  son  of  Illinois,  a  soldier  all  over,  shot  at  Bull 
Run  fighting  his  guns  to  the  last,  home  on  leave — and 
crutches.  Send  for  him  and  sound  him."  The  governor 
sent,  sounded,  and,  just  so  soon  as  Rolfe  could  kick  free 
the  crutch  and  walk  with  a  cane,  despatched  him  to  Louis- 
ville to  report  to  the  but  newly  arrived  commanding  gen- 
eral— the  Buell  who  had  taken  hold  with  such  vigorous, 
unsparing  hand — the  Buell  to  whom,  when  adjutant-gen- 
eral on  the  far  Pacific  coast,  young  Rolfe  had  reported  on 
his  promotion  to  a  first  lieutenancy  but  the  year  before. 
At  that  time  the  young  soldier  was  on  his  way  to  join 
the  light  battery  of  his  regiment  in  the  distant  East.  Now 
he  had  come  to  take  command  of  a  regiment  of  volun- 
teers from  his  native  State,  and  what  the  general  said  to 
him  was  substantially  this:  "I  hope  you  can  pull  the 

th  out  of  the  mud  and  keep  young  Freeman  out  of 

mischief."  Whereat  Rolfe's  pale,  young  face  went  crim- 
son, a  thing  Buell's  never  did.  Four  days  later,  report- 
ing to  his  earliest  brigade  commander,  far  up  the  Ken- 
tucky River,  he  was  greeted  by  that  jovial  soldier  with, 
"Hello,  Rolfe;  so  you're  the  Moses  to  lead  the  children 
of  Israel  out  of  bondage,  are  you?  Well,  look  out  for 
young  Freeman.  Let's  see — you  knew  him  at  the  Point 


The    Rock  of  Chickamauga.  17 

when  you  were  in  Tactics,  I  think,"  whereat  Rolfe  red-* 
dened  again. 

Rolfe  had  known  young  Freeman  at  the  Point;  had 
been,  in  fact,  a  factor  in  young  Freeman's  leaving  the 
Point — "deficient  in  discipline,"  as  they  would  put  it  to- 
day ;  "found  on  demerit,"  as  they  said  in  '59.  Rolfe  had 
gone  from  the  Academy  to  the  far  Pacific  a  rather  un- 
happy man,  for,  while  his  associates  and  his  conscience 
told  him  the  fault  lay  with  young  Freeman,  not  with  him, 
there  were  two  women  who  totally  refused  to  see  it  that 
way — Cadet  Freeman's  mother  and  sister,  and  time  had 
been  when  Elsie  Freeman's  opinion  meant  a  lot  to  How- 
ard Rolfe.  From  that  time  to  the  date  of  his  joining  the 

th  Illinois  Rolfe  had  not  set  eyes  on  the  light-hearted 

source  of  his  own  heavy-heartedness.  He  had  prepared 
himself  to  meet  a  young  officer  who  would  behave  with 
distant  hauteur.  It  wasn't  conceivable  that  the  cadet 
himself  should  harbor  no  rancor  against  his  former  in- 
structor and  company  commander,  when  his  kinsfolk  dis- 
played so  much ;  but  the  one  officer  of  the th  to  greet 

him  joyously,  even  effusively,  was  First  Lieutenant  Free- 
man, as  trim  and  presentable  a  young  soldier  as  one 
would  care  to  see.  "Got  a  lot  of  the  old  nick  in  me  yet, 
colonel,"  he  had  laughingly  said,  "but  if  anybody  can  take 
it  out  of  me,  it's  you,  and  the  Lord  knows  I'd  like  to 
help  you !" 

Later  he  had  told  Rolfe  how,  after  quitting  the  Point 
at  the  end  of  his  "yearling"  year,  he  had  gone  globe- 
trotting with  "mummie"  and  his  sister  a  while,  back  a 
while  for  the  "cours"  at  Grenoble,  then  home  for  a  few 


1 8  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

months  at  the  Troy  Polytechnic,  and  "just  managed  to 
scrape  through,  sir ;  never  could  have  done  it  in 
God's  world  if  they'd  had  any  regulations  worth  break- 
ing." Later  still  he  had  joined  the  engineering  force  of 
the  Illinois  Central,  and  was  trying  to  persuade  them  he 
was  worth  his  keep,  or  eventually  would  be,  when  sud- 
denly came  the  war,  and  rodmen,  chainmen,  and  squads 
of  sectionmen  marched  with  him  to  the  nearest  rendez- 
vous, and  that  made  him  a  first  lieutenant  of  volunteer  in- 
fantry, "when  I'd  only  been  a  second  luff  if  I  hadn't  gone 
and  got  swamped  in  demerit." 

A  smart,  soldierly  young  officer  the  colonel  found  him 
on  guard,  drill,  or  parade ;  but,  once  "out  of  ranks,"  as  it 
were,  Freeman  ran  wild.  The  camp  was  never  big 
enough  to  hold  him.  Temptations  innumerable  lured  him 
on  from  every  side,  and  the  colonel's  grave  welcome 
turned  to  admonition.  Twice  had  Freeman  absented 
himself  without  permission  a  whole  day  and  night  from 
camp.  Twice  had  he  been  brought  up  smiling,  with  an 
apology  due  the  colonel,  and  now,  just  when  any  moment 
their  marching  orders  might  be  on  them,  a  dashing  lieu- 
tenant was  among  the  missing  and  might  be  left  a  long 
day's  journey  behind. 

As  Captain  Manning,  in  oilskin  cap  cover,  and  drip- 
ping poncho,  came  rebukefully  within  view  and  stood 
silent  at  the  edge  of  the  fly,  Rolfe  arose  and  joined  him. 

"Have  you  any  idea  where  Mr.  Freeman  is?"  was  the 
question,  and  for  answer  the  captain  turned,  peered  for 
a  moment  through  the  dripping  darkness,  and  presently 
focused  his  gaze  on  a  tiny  cluster  of  lights  afar  to  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  19 

flooding  southwest,  and  to  this  feeble  constellation,  all 
other  things  being  shrouded  in  the  universal  gloom,  the 
captain  pointed. 

"In  my  opinion,"  he  said,  "the  lieutenant's  there,  and 
he  might  better  be  in — Texas !" 

"What's  wrong  with  the  place — or  the  people?"  asked 
Rolfe  in  genuine  anxiety. 

"Secesh  to  the  marrow — an'  trying  to  hide  it.  Some 
night  Freeman'll  be  missing  for  good." 

And  just  then,  over  near  the  guard-tent,  there  sounded 
three  solemn,  mournful  thumps  upon  a  sodden  drum- 
head, and  the  lights  began  to  go  out  all  over  camp  to  the 
primitive,  old-time  call  of  "Taps,"  leaving  presently  none 
in  view  but  those  bale-fires  upon  the  wooded  height  far 
beyond  the  stream. 

These  were  the  early  war  days,  be  it  remembered.  The 
forces  in  the  West,  at  least,  were  still  in  their  crude  and 
formative  state.  Drill  they  were  learning  with  the  ease 
and  adaptability  of  the  American.  Discipline  they  were 
acquiring  with  slow,  reluctant  steps,  diversified  by  occa- 
sional sudden  and  startling  relapse  to  the  long-accus- 
tomed town-meeting  methods  of  the  home  folk.  There 
had  been  much  of  this  go-as-you-please  business  at  the 
start.  Gentle-mannered  Anderson,  he  of  Sumter  fame, 
had  for  a  time  been  placed  in  chief  command,  with  Louis- 
ville for  headquarters — a  reward  rather  for  services  ren- 
dered in  the  past  than  hoped  for  in  the  present.  A  day's 
journey  farther  up-stream,  at  Cincinnati,  the  fiery  Mitch- 
ell was  forwarding  men  and  munitions  over  into  Ken- 
tucky. The  governors  of  the  bordering  States  on  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


upper  bank  kept  constantly  in  touch  with  their  quotas 
along  the  lower,  for  not  yet  had  the  volunteers  begun 
to  realize  what  it  meant  to  belong  to  Uncle  Sam  instead 
of  Governor  Dick.  Anderson,  retiring  because  of  phys- 
ical infirmities,  left  the  command  to  that  blunt,  outspoken, 
and  astonishing  general  recently  arrived  from  Washing- 
ton, called  "crazy"  because  he  said  three  years  and  three 
hundred  thousand  men  would  be  needed  to  subdue  the 
South.  Three  weeks  he  stirred  matters  at  headquarters, 
and  then  begged  of  the  government  that  they  send  to  su- 
persede him  a  man  he,  too,  had  known  in  California  — 
that  blue-eyed,  pale-faced,  methodical,  machinelike  sol- 
dier who  had  fought  and  bled  as  an  infantry  subaltern  in 
the  Mexican  War,  who  had  the  gift  of  organization  and 
system,  and  "Crazy  Sherman"  had  the  deep  sagacity  to 
get  himself  again  into  the  field,  and  away  from  the  poli- 
ticians, and  to  turn  over  a  most  vexatious  berth  to  a  man 
stolid,  impenetrable,  and  inflexible,  as  the  best  possible 
selection  to  impart  system  and  discipline  to  the  forces  at 
the  front,  and  some  respect  to  Federal  authority  to  the 
statesmen  swarming  at  the  rear. 

And  the  army  was  just  beginning  to  know  what  it 
was  to  have  a  thinking  head  and  a  directing  hand  —  a 
hand  that  could  punish  as  well  as  point  the  way  —  when 
Howard  Rolfe  came  down  to  replace  Israel  Gummidge, 
and  "The  Children  of  Israel,"  as  that  most  independent 
regiment  had  been  dubbed,  began  to  see  a  little  some- 
thing of  real  soldiering.  Not  yet  was  Buell  ready  to 
trust  his  raw  volunteers  in  actual  battle.  Something  be- 
sides enthusiasm  and  native  courage  would  be  needed  ere 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


it  came  to  that.  Impatient  statesmen  about  Washington 
had  learned  it  to  their  cost,  and  the  fiasco  of  Big  Bethel, 
the  disasters  of  Bull  Run  and  Ball's  Bluff  had  taught 
them  the  wisdom  of  further  preparation  before  again 
trying  conclusions  with  a  foeman  equally  brave,  and  fight- 
ing on  his  own  ground.  Not  yet  could  Buell  trust  his 
eager  men  across  the  Cumberland,  where  lurked  the 
Southern  pickets  at  every  bridge  and  ford,  with  strong 
supports  in  a  score  of  country  towns,  and  behind  them 
all  a  soldier  the  South  could  swear  by,  and  the  North 
might  well  hold  in  dread  —  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  the 
fighting  Texan  of  the  old  army.  No,  even  with  Christ- 
mas close  at  hand,  with  the  snow  clouds  shrouding  the 
heavens,  and  the  south  winds  turning  them  to  rain,  the 
roads  to  quagmires,  and  the  streams  to  floods,  patience 
was  the  word,  and  practise  and  preparation  the  order. 

Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  came  the  rumor  that  the  South 
had  taken  the  initiative  —  that  Johnston  had  sent  his  lead- 
ing divisions  to  try  the  mettle  of  the  men  in  blue  and 
sound  the  loyalty  or  disloyalty  of  the  Kentucky  home 
guard  —  that  Humphrey  Marshall,  a  soldier  of  fame,  was 
pounding  at  Cumberland  Gap  and  pouring  over  into  the 
valley  of  the  Big  Sandy  —  that  Zollicoffer,  though  but  a 
"newspaper  general,"  was  sampling  the  Cumberland 
crossings  and  scouting  the  bordering  counties  along  the 
northward  bank.  Then  came  mounting  in  hot  haste,  and 
couriers  sputtering  from  camp  to  camp,  and  orders  for 
the  scattered  brigades,  and  staff-officers  out  from  Louis- 
ville. Which  was  how  Cutler  and  his  comrade  Erwin 
happened  here  at  Rolfe's  marquee  this  wet  and  dripping 


22  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

night  along  the  west  fork,  with  the  regiment  turning  in 
for  a  good,  long  sleep  to  the  lullaby  of  the  rain  drumming 
on  the  tautened  canvas,  with  darkness  brooding  over 
shore  and  stream  and  broad,  wet  pasture-land  so  lately 
turned  to  drill-ground,  with  only  the  faint  glow  of  dis- 
tant lights,  low-lying  in  the  village  a  mile  northeast,  with 
only  the  tiny  sparkle  of  those  "bale-fires"  southwestward 
on  the  heights. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Cutler  was  an  odd  genius,  as  has  been  said — a  man  with 
a  bent,  as  he  believed,  for  reading  motive  and  hidden 
purpose,  and  therefore  ever  looking  for  both.  Cutler 
might  have  won  distinction  in  the  days  of  Machiavelli, 
and  would  have  sought  to  supersede  Vidocq  or  Fouche. 
A  dozen  years  had  he  dwelt  among  the  simple-minded 
men  of  the  American  Army,  with  never  a  chance  for  em- 
ployment of  his  peculiar  gift.  Frontier  service,  even  on 
the  Pacific  coast,  bore  no  opening  for  intrigue,  but  now 
had  come  a  colossal  war,  with  an  army  to  be  created,  fed, 
clothed  and  supplied;  with  illimitable  opportunity  for 
fraud  and  peculation,  for  building  up  and  pulling  down 
of  men,  measures,  and  reputations,  and  Cutler  at  last  had 
found  something  to  work  for.  Born  in  the  West, 
schooled  when  a  mere  lad  in  local  politics,  he  had  studied 
hw  and  served  as  private  secretary  in  the  office  of  one  of 
the  keenest  of  the  rising  statesmen  of  Illinois.  Sent  to 
West  Point  when  almost  twenty-one,  he  found  himself 
"Dad"  of  his  class  in  point  of  years,  and  great-grand- 
father in  point  of  worldly  wisdom  and  experience.  Grad- 
uated in  the  artillery,  he  had  got  the  route  to  California 
in  days  when,  had  he  quit  the  service  and  gone  in  for 
the  law  and  politics,  he  might  have  undermined  men 
enough  to  make  way  for  himself.  As  it  was,  he  sought 
to  do  both,  to  hang  onto  the  army  for  the  slender  but 
sure  maintenance  it  afforded,  and  to  mingle  wherever 


24  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

possible  with  the  seething  swarm  of  politicians  whose 
careers,  some  of  them  at  least,  were  made  memorable 
by  intrigue  and  assassination.  A  butt-headed,  stout*- 
hearted  soldier  came  as  commander  of  the  isolated  de- 
partment about  that  time,  and  Cutler  went,  swift  and 
sudden,  and  very  soon  thereafter,  to  the  outermost  con- 
fines of  the  martial  bailiwick.  Fort  Yuma,  to  the  merri- 
ment of  purely  military  associates  and  his  own  deep  dis- 
gust, became  Cutler's  station  for  many  a  day.  It  was 
Buell  indeed  who  finally  restored  him  to  the  possibilities 
of  the  Presidio  of  San  Francisco,  but  there  it  took  time 
to  reestablish  himself  in  other  than  soldier  society,  and 
then  came  on  the  war,  and  only  those  could  and  did  re- 
sign whose  purpose  it  was  to  take  the  side  of  the  South. 
And  now  was  afforded  opportunity  for  command  in  the 
field,  or  staff  duty  in  some  one  of  the  departments  of  sup- 
ply. His  patron  of  old  days,  the  congressman  who  sent 
him  to  the  Point,  sat  high  in  the  seats  of  the  mighty,  a 
man  whom  the  great  President  had  known  for  years,  al- 
ternately admiring  and  detesting.  Now,  in  the  nation's 
hour  of  peril,  he  needed  every  helping  hand,  and  had 
"The  Sage  of  the  Sangamon"  asked  that  a  star  be  placed 
on  the  shoulder  of  his  protege,  no  doubt  that  Cutler 
would  have  been  so  decorated.  It  was  Cutler  himself 
who  said  he  preferred  something  else — a  major's  commis- 
sion, to  start  with,  in  the  Department  of  Supply.  It  gave 
him  power  and  influence  over  and  above  that  of  any 
brigadier  at  the  front,  and  his  power  he  thought  would 
surely  be  doubled  when  Buell,  his  friend  of  California 
days,  came  to  Kentucky  and  the  chief  command;  for 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  25 

Buell  trusted  him  as  Sherman  did  not — Sherman,  who 
as  banker  and  keen  observer,  had  seen  the  other  side  of 
Cutler  in  San  Francisco. 

Now,  here  was  a  strange  situation,  all  growing  out 
of  California  service.  Sherman,  who  believed  in  Buell, 
had  urged  his  being  placed  in  chief  command.  Pre- 
sumably, therefore,  Buell  should  be  grateful  to  Sher- 
man. Buell,  who  believed  in  Cutler,  had  rescued  him 
from  military  exile.  Presumably  Cutler  should  be  grate- 
ful to  Buell.  Cutler,  who  believed  in  Rolfe,  had  urged 

his  appointment  as  colonel  of  the  th.  Presumably 

Rolfe  should  be  grateful  to  Cutler ;  yet  Rolfe  was  already 
chafing  against  Cutler's  propensity  for  meddling  in  mat^ 
ters  connected  with  the  regiment.  Cutler  was  chafing  at 
finding  that  Buell  was  independent  and  dominant  to  a 
degree  unlocked  for  when  he  was  adjutant-general,  and 
as  for  Buell,  who  could  say  with  what  relief  he  entered 
on  his  duties,  knowing  that  Sherman,  the  erratic,  had 
sought  service  in  another  department  with  a  very  differ- 
ent command.  Sherman  had  believed  in  a  certain  few 
among  the  Kentucky  loyalists ;  Buell  found  his  ears  be- 
sieged with  insinuations  against  them.  It  was  then  that 
Cutler,  chafing  under  the  supervision  of  headquarters, 
had  suggested  to  his  chief  that  he  should  be  glad  to  per- 
sonally loo':  over  the  condition  of  the  various  camps,  and 
incidentally  to  learn  the  inside  facts  as  to  the  loyalty  of 
certain  families  in  mid-Kentucky,  and  Buell  bade  him  go. 

For  ten  days  Rolfe  had  been  fretting  over  the  non- 
action  of  the  governor  on  his  recommendations  for  the 
promotion  of  deserving  subalterns  and  sergeants.  Va- 


26  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

cancies  had  occurred  in  the  commissioned  personnel,  and 
the  colonel  deemed  himself  the  proper  man  to  name  the 
candidates  in  succession.  To  his  perplexity  there  was 
delay,  then  demur,  then  intimation  that  "Colonel  Cutler 
would  be  out  to  talk  the  matter  over,"  and  Cutler's  com- 
ing brought  the  first  word  that  other  candidates  were 
being  seriously  considered — men  of  whom,  in  most  cases, 
Rolfe  did  not  approve.  Then  Cutler  was  found  in  whis- 
pered conference  with  certain  of  these  gentry,  and 
Rolfe's  impatient  spirit  took  fire  at  the  sight.  "You  surely 
cannot  be  encouraging  such  specimens  to  expect  commis- 
sions in  the  regiment  I  command,"  said  he.  And  Cutler, 
who  knew  the  buttered  side  of  his  political  bread,  and 
had  not  only  encouraged  but  advocated  just  such  ad- 
vancement for  three  of  the  men  in  question,  responded 
with  judicial  calm :  "They  are  being  backed  rather  vig- 
orously at  home,  you  know.  It  is  well  to  look  at  both 
sides."  A  remark  which  did  not  commit  himself  at  all. 
And  now  again,  before  Cutler  had  been  twenty-four 
hours  in  his  camp,  but  full  a  week  after  that  knight-er- 
rant had  set  forth  from  Louisville,  he  was  not  only  med- 
dling in  matters  of  promotion,  "mixing  in"  with  Rolfe's 
plans  for  a  forward  dash  toward  Mill  Springs  and  Zolli- 
cofrer's  untutored  lines,  but  he  was  making  odd,  semi- 
significant  inquiries  and  remarks  as  to  Lieutenant  Edgar 
Freeman,  in  whose  career,  professional  and  personal, 
Rolfe  was  feeling  unusual  if  not  unnatural  interest.  It 
was  ill-luck,  indeed,  that  just  at  a  time  when  the  visitor 
seemed  primed  with  significant  questions  as  to  Freeman, 
his  haunts  and  habits,  that  the  young  officer  himself 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  27 

should  turn  up  missing.  The  adjutant  had  boldly  an- 
nounced it;  the  visitors  must  have  heard. 

Cutler  had  a  way  of  looking  "pop-eyed,"  as  some  one 
expressed  it,  with  preternatural  and  owllike  wisdom 
when  he  knew  just  what  was  going  on  and  saw  fit  to 
make  no  mention  of  it.  Cutler's  eyes  were  rolling  as 
Rolfe  came  gloomily  back  to  his  guests,  and  now  were 
fixed  on  his  finger-tips,  close-pressed  to  each  other  on 
his  knees.  It  was  Erwin  who  took  up  the  word. 

"What's  the  captain  seem  to  think?"  said  he. 

"That  Freeman  was  calling  on  friends  in  the  neighbor- 
hood and  forgot  it  was  so  late,"  was  the  brief  answer. 

"Pretty  girl,  I  suppose,"  hazarded  Erwin. 

"Shouldn't  wonder.  This  is  Kentucky.  Where  the 
devil  did  I  put  that  pipe  ?"  And  Colonel  "Ruddy,"  as  the 
regiment  had  begun  to  call  him  in  allusion  to  his  auburn 
hair,  was  obviously  seeking  to  shift  the  channel  of  talk. 

"H'm,"  began  Cutler,  and  those  who  knew  him — and 
marked  the  preliminary  roll  of  the  eyes,  the  downward- 
pointing,  tip-touching,  and  extended  digits,  then  the  fo- 
cusing of  the  big,  full  eyeballs  upon  them  and  nothing 
else — were  prepared  for  significant  speech.  Deliberately 
the  words  followed : 

"There's  a  family  hereabouts — Virginian  originally — 
we'd  like  to  know  something  of.  Ever  since  Simon  Bol- 
ivar Buckner  came  tip  in  September,  and  turned  every- 
thing red  from  Bowling  Green  to  Betsyville,  this  part  of 
the  State  has  been  suffering1  to  follow  suit.  These  people 
hereabouts  have  been  coaxing  Zollicoffer  to  shove  ahead 
f!om  the  Cumberland  and  make  himself  at  home.  They 


28  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

keep  him  posted  as  to  everything  going  in  our  camps. 
They  know  just  whom  to  sound  and  whom  to  touch, 
and  thus  far  with  con-sid-er-able  success.  Now,  ad- 
mitting that  we  have  some  loyal  Kentuckians — Fry,  Gar- 
rard,  Marshall,  and  Holt,  and  others,  there's  no  end  of 
'em  gone  with  the  South.  It's  a  toss-up  which  way  a 
Kentuckian  faces  this  time,  but  these  folks  we  want  to 
know  about  are  Virginians,  and  with  a  Virginian  it's  dol- 
lars to  doughnuts  they  go  only  one  way." 

The  patter  of  rain-drops  on  the  canvas  roof  alone  broke 
the  silence  for  a  moment.  Rolfe's  brier-root  was  in  vol- 
canic action  and  the  smoke  jutted  in  feverish  puffs.  Then, 
muffled  yet  rhythmic,  the  tramp  of  the  "relief"  was  heard, 
squashing  by  in  the  mud;  then  the  challenge  of  neigh- 
boring sentry,  a  rattle  of  band  and  bayonet  as  the  mus- 
kets came  up  from  "secure"  to  the  shoulder  at  the  cor- 
poral's command  to  halt.  '  'Scuse  me  a  moment,"  said 
Rolfe  abruptly,  and  with  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  frock 
coat  thrown  open,  he  lunged  recklessly  out  in  the  rain 
with  a  gruff  call  to  the  lantern-bearing  non-commissioned 
officer  just  nearing  the  dripping  sentry.  Setting  down 
his  lantern,  the  young  soldier  hurried  over  to  his  com- 
mander, the  relief  hunching  their  shoulders  and  looking 
curiously,  patiently,  on.  What  possible  fault  had  the  "Old 
Man"  to  find  with  their  corporal  now  ? 

"When  you  get  back  to  the  guard-tent  say  to  the  offi- 
cer of  the  guard,  with  my  compliments,  that  I  would  like 
to  see  him  while  he  is  making  the  rounds." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  corporal,  and  half-turned  as 
though  to  start. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  ig 

"One  moment!"  ("I  thought  so,"  muttered  Cutler, 
peering  out  from  under  his  shaggy  brows.)  "Any  of 
those  absentees  come  in?" 

"Three  of  them,  sir.  Said  the  foot-bridge  over  the 
creek  was  down  and  they  had  to  go  up  to  get  across." 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  ford  out  yonder?" 

"Waist-deep,  sir.  Creek's  risen  two  feet  since  sun- 
down." 

The  colonel  reflected  a  moment.  "Very  good.  That's 
all,"  said  he  suddenly,  and  the  relief  went  on  its  dripping 
way. 

"Queer,"  he  continued,  as  he  slowly  rejoined  his  vis- 
itors. "It  hasn't  rained  so  very  hard  hereabouts." 

"Probably  been  pouring  hard  in  the  hills  to  the  south," 
said  Cutler.  "As  I  was  saying,  there  may  be  division  of 
sentiment  here  in  Kentucky,  but  not  so  in  Virginia, 
Wherever  you  find  a  Virginian,  he's  for  Virginia  against 
all  creation,  North  or  South,  and  so ' 

"How  about  Scott?"  asked  Rolfe  testily.  "Not  only 
stood  fast  himself,  but  did  his  best  to  hold  Lee  and  others 
we  wot  of." 

"And  couldn't  hold  'em,"  continued  Cutler  imperturb- 
ably,  with  a  heave  of  his  shoulder — an  invertebrate  shrug 
of  the  system  that  left  him  all  in  a  bunch  in  the  canvas 
chair — all  but  the  long  bony  hands  and  tip-touching  fin- 
gers, still  downward-pointing — all  but  the  big  eyes,  once 
again  focused  upon  them.  "As  for  Scott,  he's  too  old 
now  to  start  afresh.  Had  he  been  young  as  Lee,  or — any 
of  'em,  you  might  have  heard  a  different  story." 

"Then,"   said   Rolfe,  his  nervous  hands  twitching  on 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


the  arms  of  his  camp-chair,  whirling  full  upon  his  can- 
tankerous guest,  his  pipe  dropping  unheeded  to  the 
ground,  "how  do  you  account  for  Thomas?" 

The  shaggy  eyebrows  arched  of  a  sudden  like  the  back 
of  a  startled  cat.  The  big  pop-eyes  dilated,  but  never 
swerved  from  the  scrutiny  of  the  extended  finger-tips. 
The  smooth-shaven  face,  conspicuous  in  days  when  all 
men  who  could  wore  beards,  was  inscrutable  as  ever,  but 
the  answer  came  with  exaggerated  calm  : 

"Thom-as  is  as  yet  unaccountable.  The  exception 
proves  the  rule." 

"Oh,  look  here,  Cutler,"  broke  in  Rolfe  disgustedly. 
"You  and  he  were  long  in  the  same  regiment,  and  you 
never  knew  a  squarer  man.  He'd  quit  it  for  the  cavalry 
by  the  time  I'd  joined,  but  he  taught  us  tactics  and  trot 
at  the  Point.  Whatever  he  did  and  wherever  he  served 
he  left  his  mark  behind  him." 

"That  isn't  the  point,"  responded  Cutler,  his  long  legs 
extending  now  and  the  middle  finger  leveled  at  the  dis- 
tant boot-toe.  One  eye  was  sighting  over  the  tip-touch- 
ing indexes,  training  an  imaginary  six-pounder  on  the 
unoffensive  toes.  "We  hadn't  any  black  sheep  in  the 
Third,  worth  mentioning,  but  Bragg  was  his  captain  at 
Buena  Vista,  and  what's  Bragg  doing  now?  Then  they 
took  Thomas  from  us,  promoted  him  into  the  new  cav- 
alry regiment,  'the  pick  of  the  army,'  they  called  it. 
Whose  pick?  Jefferson  Davis's.  And  whom  did  he 
pick?  For  colonel,  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  of  Texas, 
now  commander-in-chief  of  the  Confederate  Army  in  the 
West  ;  for  lieutenant-colonel,  Robert  E.  Lee,  of  Virginia, 


The  Rock   of  Chickamauga.  31 

now  commander-in-chief  of  Virginia's  forces  in  the  East ; 
for  majors,  William  J.  Hardee,  of  Georgia,  now  major- 
general  of  the  Confederate  forces  in  the  South,  and 
Bragg,  of  North  Carolina,  another  major-general,  and  as 
Bragg  didn't  want  it,  and  named  his  own  first  lieutenant 
in  the  old  battery,  they  gave  it  to  him — George  Henry 
Thomas,  of  Virginia,  now — what? — a  mere  brigadier- 
general  of  volunteers,  commanding  a  pitiful  little  bunch  of 
raw  recruits  somewhere  out  here  to  the  front  of  us.  Who 
are  his  people  ?  Virginians.  Who  were  his  backers  when 
they  made  him  a  major?  Jeff  Davis,  John  B.  Floyd, 
Robert  E.  Lee,  Braxton  Bragg.  Who  were  his  friends 
and  associates?  Johnston,  Lee,  Bragg,  Hardee,  Van 
Dorn,  Stuart,  Hood,  'Shanks'  Evans — all  of  them  gen- 
erals in  high  command,  some  right  here  in  our  front.  And 
what  have  Lincoln  and  Stanton  given  Thomas  for  turn- 
ing his  back,  a-ap-par-ent-ly,  on  his  family,  his  friends, 
his  State,  and  sticking  up  for  the  old  flag?  Men  years 
his  junior,  some  of  'em,  are  heading  big  divisions  or 
something  higher,  in  front  of  Washington — McClellan, 
Fitz  John  Porter,  Charles  P.  Stone,  'Baldy'  Smith— but 
look  at  Thomas,  leading  a  measly  lot  of  home  guards  and 
hoosiers,  with  promise  only  of  a  regiment  or  two  like 
this !  What  does  it  mean,  Rolfe  ?  I'm  not  saying  in  so 
many  words,  but  draw  your  own  conclusions." 

"I  have  drawn,"  said  Rolfe ;  "drew  'em  first  time  I  ever 
drew  sword  in  command  of  this  regiment.  It's  a  time 
when  too  many  men  are  trying  to  pull  some  other  men 
down."  Then:  "What  is  it?"  he  asked  sharply,  whirl- 


31  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

ing  again  to  the  entrance  in  response  to  a  glance  of  warn- 
ing in  Cutler's  dilated  eyes. 

A  cavalry  trooper,  escorted  by  a  corporal  of  the  guard, 
had  dismounted  in  front,  and  now  appeared  underneath 
the  fly,  the  water  dripping  from  his  cap  and  poncho. 

"A  despatch  for  the  colonel,"  he  said,  and  held  forth 
a  flat  parcel  wrapped  in  oilskin.  "I  was  told  to  inquire 
for  him  on  the  way  at  the  Morgan  place,  and  then  I  got 
swamped  trying  to  cross " 

"Inquire  for  me — at  the  Morgans'?"  demanded  Rolfe 
in  surprise,  for  now  the  pop-eyes  had  quit  their  scrutiny 
of  the  finger-tips;  the  shrewd  face,  with  up-arched  eye- 
brows, had  tilted  to  the  pose  of  a  listening  bird. 

"No,  sir ;  the  lieutenant — him  that  this  is  about." 

But  Rolfe  had  torn  open  the  packet  and  was  hur- 
riedly reading: 

Somerset,  Kentucky, 
December  — ,  1861. 

Commanding  Officer, th  Illinois  Infantry  Volunteers, 

Camp  Near  Crab  Orchard. 

SIR  :  The  enclosed  note  addressed  to  an  officer  of  your 
command  was  found,  with  certain  others,  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  civilian  caught  by  our  pickets  while  attempting 
to  ride  through  from  the  direction  of  Mill  Springs.  The 
bearer  and  his  letters  were  examined  by  General  Thomas 
himself,  who  was  reconnoitering  from  Columbia. 

General  Thomas  directs  that  the  note  be  delivered  as 
addressed,  and  that  Lieutenant  Freeman  be  ordered  to 
report  to  him  in  person  at  Liberty  and  without  delay. 
Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

J.  J.  HOSKINS, 
Colonel  Commanding  Brigade. 

Rolfe  read  with  clouded  eyes  and  wrinkling  brow,  Cut- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  33 

ler  noting  every  symptom,  Krwin  sitting  silent  and  ob- 
servant. 

A  second  time  the  colonel  read  his  letter,  a  second  time 
studied  the  superscription  of  the  enclosure  and  turned  it 
over  to  look  at  the  back.  It  had  obviously  been  opened, 
then  ostentatiously  sealed — a  dark-red  blotch  of  official 
wax  sprawled  in  the  middle  of  the  dingy  white — then 
stamped  with  an  unfamiliar  device.  Slowly  the  coloi*u 
set  it  down  upon  the  camp-table. 

"Do  you  mean  you  were  told  to  give  this  letter  to 
Lieutenant  Freeman  if  you  found  him  at  the  Morgan 
place  ?"  asked  Rolfe,  with  trouble  in  his  eyes. 

"No,  sir;  this." 

And,  fumbling  in  the  breast  of  his  cavalry  jacket,  the 
orderly  fished  out  another  packet,  smaller.  "The  lieuten- 
ant wasn't  there.  They  said  he'd  left  there  soon  after 
dark  and  I'd  find  him  here  at  camp."  And,  being  wet, 
weary,  and  hungry,  after  a  long,  hard  ride,  the  trooper 
held  forth  the  second  missive,  glad  to  get  it  off  his  hands. 
Rolfe  took  it,  studied  it  gingerly  a  moment,  and  laid  it 
beside  the  other. 

"The  lieutenant  is  not  in  yet,"  said  he.  "I'll  receipt  to 
you  for  these,  and  then  the  corporal  will  show  you  where 
to  put  up  your  horse,  and  get  hot  coffee  and  something 
to  eat,"  and  while  Rolfe  was  scrawling  with  pencil  on 
the  face  of  the  official  envelope  Cutler  calmly  stretched 
forth  his  hand,  took  the  two  letters,  gazed  curiously  at 
the  address  of  the  first,  then  turned  as  curiously  to  the 
other,  just  as  Rolfe,  the  courier  dismissed  and  sent  re- 


34  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

joicefully  on  his  way,  turned  again,  faced  his  inquisitor 
guest,  saw  what  he  was  doing,  and  flushed  indignantly. 

The  first  note  had  fallen  from  the  long,  bony  fingers 
upon  the  long,  lean  thigh.  It  was  the  second  at  which, 
with  compressed  lips  and  much  dilated  eyes,  the  stafT- 
offker  was  staring. 

"H'm,"  said  he,  as  he  glanced  at  the  angering  eyes 
above  him.  "H'm  !  Thomas's  own  writing !" 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  creek  had  risen  another  foot  by  ten  o'clock  and 
was  lapping  over  its  banks  by  twelve,  as  the  now  un- 
necessary sentries  on  the  westward  side  of  camp  were 
speedily  ready  to  testify.  First  one,  then  another,  set 
up  a  shout  for  the  corporal  of  the  guard,  and  they  were 
successively  found  by  that  functionary  shin-deep  in  water. 
"Looks  like  a  case  of  drown  or  desert  post,"  said  Number 
Twelve,  as  the  lantern  of  the  lieutenant  commanding  the 
guard  threw  its  beams  over  a  dark  and  swirling  sheet  of 
rain-pelted,  bubble-covered  branch  water.  "  'Nless  this 
peters  out  quicker'n  it  looks  to,  the  cook  fires'll  go  next, 
an'  the  hull  damn  regiment'll  have  to  swim  for  shore,"  was 
his  further  comment,  winding  up  with,  "You  can  see  that 
even  in  the  dark." 

Rolfe  came  wading  down  in  raincoat  and  rubber  boots 
soon  after  midnight,  for  the  patter  of  the  rain  on  the  can- 
vas had  long  since  increased  to  a  steady  roar,  and  Rolfe 
found  the  flood  eating  its  way  into  the  "bench"  on  which 
was  pitched  his  camp.  Out  in  midstream,  visible  now  in 
the  light  of  big  fires  built  along  the  crumbling  bank,  logs, 
beams,  planks,  and  rubbish  of  every  description  were 
sailing  and  tossing  swiftly  northward  to  swell  the  flood 
of  the  usually  serene  Kentucky.  It  looked  as  though 
every  bridge  for  miles  had  gone  out  with  the  torrent,  and 
as  though  the  camp  might  speedily  follow.  Already  the 
quartermaster  and  his  teams  had  hauled  out  all  the  regi- 


36  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

mental  luggage,  rations,  stores,  and  firewood  on  the 
lower  level,  and  stood  ready  to  save  all  possible  tentage 
should  the  rain  continue.  The  rain  had  decreased  in  vol- 
ume, but  was  still  dripping  steadily.  Half  the  regi- 
ment was  up  and  out,  swarming  in  bedraggled  blue  over- 
coats along  the  brink,  heaping  wood  upon  their  fires  and 
abuse  upon  the  weather,  and  from  one  of  the  group,  along 
toward  one  o'clock,  came  the  startling  cry:  "By  God! 
there's  a  boat — and  a  girl !" 

Something  like  a  skiff  had  gone  flashing  by,  with  some- 
thing in  white,  waving  distracted  and  despairing  signal 
from  its  stern,  and  there  was  a  rush  on  the  part  of  a  score 
of  men  for  the  sentry-line  at  the  north  of  camp. 

Rolfe  turned  to  his  adjutant,  standing  silently  by. 
"There's  just  one  thing  to  have  caused  this  flood,"  said 
he.  "There's  a  jam  of  rubbish  and  timber  somewhere 
within  a  mile  or  so,  probably  about  the  Bonner  Bridge. 
That  will  stop  the  skiff,  and  then  we  can  get  at  the — 
at  whoever  is  in  it.  Mr.  Byers,"  he  called  to  the  officer 
of  the  guard,  "take  half  a  dozen  men  and  go  down  along 
the  bank  and  listen  for  hails.  It'll  be  slack  water,  and 
that  boat  will  bring  up  somewhere.  Yes,  yes,  you  may 
go,  too,  if  you  like."  This,  half-pleased,  half-provoked,  to 
the  eager,  boyish  appeals  of  several  young  soldiers. 
"Take  lanterns  and  ropes  and  anything  else  you  think  of. 
I'll  follow  presently." 

"Will  the  colonel  have  his  horse,  sir?"  asked  an  older 
soldier,  his  hand  at  the  vizor. 

Rolfe  turned  quickly  and  stared  at  him.  "Hello! 
Where  have  you  served?"  he  asked,  for  only  the  veteran 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  37 

regular  used  the  third  person  in  addressing  his 
officer. 

The  soldier  stammered.  "It's  all  new  to  me,  sir,"  he 
said.  "I  heard  some  of  the  battery  boys  speaking  that 
way — and  they  told  me."f 

Rolfe,  by  the  gleam  of  the  adjutant's  lantern,  looked 
the  speaker  keenly  over.  He  stood  nearly  six  feet  in 
his  stockings,  was  thin,  wiry,  and  surely  over  forty;  the 
grizzly  stubble  on  his  chin,  and  the  lines  in  his  foxlike  face 
proclaimed  the  fact.  He  had  dropped  the  hands,  had 
even  allowed  them  to  clasp  in  front,  had  relaxed  to  sud- 
den slouch,  from  the  precise  and  soldierly  attitude  Un- 
consciously assumed  when  first  he  addressed  the  regi- 
mental commander,  and  Rolfe  saw  through  the  artifice  at 
a  glance.  It  was  an  obvious  case  of  old  soldier  playing  new. 

"Stand  'tention!"  came  the  sudden  order,  in  the  drill- 
sergeant  tones  of  the  old  service,  and  in  an  instant,  the 
habit  of  years  proving  stronger  than  the  device  of  the 
moment,  the  soldier's  heels  snapped  together  in  the  wet 
grass,  the  lean,  sinewy  body  straightened  up  from  the 
knees,  and,  with  head  erect  and  eyes  to  the  front,  the 
recruit  veteran  fell  into  the  trap. 

"Very  new,  I  should  say,"  said  the  colonel  grimly. 
"And  what  name  did  you  bear  in  the  regulars  ?  That  will 
do,  you  others,"  he  continued,  as  in  moist  but  mirthful  en- 
joyment of  the  episode,  a  dozen  young  soldiers  crowded 
about.  "Go  to  your  companies  now.  You  may  be  needed 
to  strike  tents  any  moment."  Then  as  they  slowly  shuf- 
fled away,  disappointed,  he  turned  again  to  the  soldier 
before  him.  "What  name  did  you  say?" 


3  8  The  Rock  ot  Chickamauga. 

"My  name's  O'Reilly,  sir." 

"What  company?" 

"  'C/  sir ;  Captain  Manning." 

"And  you  have  never  served  before,  at  least  by  that 
name?" 

The  soldier  gulped  at  something  in  his  throat,  but 
stood  his  ground.  "There's  lots  of  old  soldiers  where  I 
come  from,  sir.  That's  how  I  learned " 

"Learned — what?"  asked  Rolfe,  remorseless. 

"How  to — how  to  speak  to  the  colonel." 

"You're  an  apt  pupil,  O'Reilly.  H^ow  is  it  you're  not 
wearing  chevrons?" 

"Re juiced,  sir,  be  order  of  Colonel  Parton,  on  com- 
plaint of  Loot'nant  Freeman." 

"When  was  that?" 

"The  week  before  Colonel  Rolfe  arrived  and  took  over 
command,"  and  now  the  pose  was  precision  itself,  dis- 
guise being  of  no  avail. 

"Had  you  been  drinking,  O'Reilly?" 

"I  had  not,  sir,"  and  the  emphasis  on  the  I  was  sig- 
nificant. 

"Lieutenant  Freeman,  I  should  judge,  had  been  much 
liked  by  the  men,"  said  the  colonel  quietly.  "It  would 
surprise  me  to  hear  that  he  had  been  unjust." 

"There  was  none  liked  him  more'n  I  did,  sir.  'Twas 
because  of  me  likin'  I  didn't  wish  to  see  the  loot'nant 
goin'  wrong." 

There  were  still,  by  dozens,  large  numbers  of  the  men 
grouped  along  the  water's  brink,  barely  twenty  paces 
distant.  The  bonfires  were  yet  brightly  burning.  The 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  39 

rain  had  slackened  still  more  and  subsided  to  a  sullen 
drizzle.  Far  down  the  valley  toward  the  north  there  was 
a  sound  as  of  rushing  waters,  and  the  faint  glimmer  of 
lanterns  could  be  made  out  every  now  and  then,  twinkling 
through  the  darkness  along  the  invisible  shore.  Away  to 
the  southward,  where,  early  in  the  evening,  the  bright 
lights  beamed  from  that  distant  homestead  on  the  hill,  the 
watchers  were  again  alert,  for  again  the  lights  were 
gleaming,  and  the  household  obviously  awake.  Over 
along  the  opposite  bank,  full  two  hundred  yards  dis- 
tant, the  night  wind  was  stirring  the  dead  leaves  in  the 
timber,  and  swaying  the  desolate  boughs.  Overhead  the 
clouds  were  breaking,  and,  at  one  point,  a  single  star 
peeped  mistily  a  moment  through  a  rent,  then  was  sud- 
denly shut  from  view.  It  was  time  to  follow  the  would-be 
rescuers,  and  yet  Rolfe  stood  here,  studying  this  new 
link  in  the  chain  of  testimony  concerning  this  happy-go- 
lucky  subaltern  of  his.  He  shrank  from  bidding  a  private 
to  speak  against  his  officer,  yet  there  were  reasons  why 
he,  as  regimental  commander,  should  know  the  facts.  It 
was  better  for  all  persons  concerned  that  he  should  gather 
them  than  that  they  should  be  told  to  far  less  sym- 
pathetic ears.  There  was  Cutler,  for  instance.  Rolfe 
thanked  his  invisible  stars  that  both  his  guests  preferred 
the  refuge  of  their  snug  tent  and  cots  and  blankets  to  the 
possible  happenings  in  the  storm-swept  camp.  He  had 
had  a  tiff  with  Cutler,  resulting  from  Cutler's  curiosity 
about  those  two  letters,  and  his  very  significant  announce- 
ment as  to  the  superscription  of  the  second.  Cutler  had 
gone  so  far  as  to  intimate  that  a  letter  from  questionable 


4O  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

sources  should  not  be  allowed  to  pass,  unexamined,  to  a 
questionable  character,  and  when  Rolfe  hotly  demanded 
whether  Cutler  meant  to  refer  to  the  second  missive,  ad- 
dressed, as  declared,  by  General  Thomas  himself,  the 
enigmatical  major  had  pursed  up  his  lips,  and  rolled  his 
eyes,  and  propped  his  finger-tips,  and  slowly  said :  "The 
letter  of  which  I — spoke — was  that  admittedly  received 
from  the  Southern  lines.  These  days,  when  this  whole 
State  is  half-rebel,  the  government  needs  to  know  just 
whom  it  can,  and  whom  it  cannot,  trust,  whether  they 
wear  chemises  or  shoulder-straps." 

"You  don't  mean  that  I  should  hold,  or  examine,  let- 
ters that  come  from  my  superior  officer  ?"  demanded  Rolfe. 

"Perhaps  not  that,"  said  Cutler,  still  studying  his  finger- 
tips. "But,  duly  accredited  officers  of  the  general  com- 
manding being  here,  the  superior  of  your  superior,  it 
might  be  well  that  they  should  be  able  to  explain  to  him 
what  seems  to  them  at  present  a  mystery.  We  mustn't 
be  too  squeamish  in  war,  Rolfe,  especially  a  war  like  this, 
when  the  devil  himself  seems  siding  with  the  South.  Of- 
ficers who  have  reason  to  suspect  treason  in  their  ranks 
should  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  root  it  out.  Officers 
who  neglect  their — opportunities,"  and  the  big  eyes  rolled 
to  the  letter  on  the  table,  "are  likely  to  be  classed  with 
those  whom  they  shield." 

And  Rolfe's  answer  had  been,  after  one  moment's  scru- 
tiny of  the  other's  impassive  face,  to  snatch  up  the  letters 
and  thrust  them  in  an  inside  pocket. 

And  there  they  were  now,  as  he  stood  here  questioning 
this  wily  veteran.  He  could  feel  them  crackling  against 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  41 

his  strong  young  heart  as  it  throbbed  beneath  the  blue. 
He  was  again  facing  the  soldier,  his  adjutant  still  stand- 
ing by,  and  he  hesitated ;  he  hated  to  ask  the  question  fal- 
tering on  his  lips,  but  at  last  it  came : 

"Do  you  mean  that  Lieutenant  Freeman  was  doing 
anything  that  you,  as  an  old  soldier,  knew  to  be — 
wrong  ?" 

For  a  moment,  no  answer. 

"You  hear  me,  I  think,  O'Reilly,"  persisted  Rolfe,  after 
a  moment's  waiting,  and  then,  as  the  soldier  was  still 
silent,  in  spite  of  a  warning  hand  laid  suddenly,  lightly 
on  his  arm,  Rolfe  repeated  his  words ;  this  time  with  re- 
sult: 

"I'd  rather  the  colonel  asked  that  of  the  loot'nant  him- 
self." 

When  Rolfe,  observant  at  last  of  the  pressure  on  his 
wrist,  turned  for  explanation  to  the  adjutant,  he  saw  be- 
side him  another  muffled  form,  with  the  keen  eyes  of 
Major  Cutler  peering  out  from  underneath  the  brim  of 
his  black  felt  hat. 

"That  will  do,  O'Reilly,"  said  the  colonel  curtly,  and 
the  soldier,  saluting,  turned  instantly  away. 

"A'h,  h'm,"  said  Cutler,  the  fingers  thrusting  forth 
from  beneath  the  long  overcoat-sleeves,  the  big  eyes  pro- 
truding, rolling  downward  until  focused  on  a  puddle  at 
his  feet.  "Young  Hopeful  again  the  subject  of  discus- 
sion, I  suppose.  Rolfe,  you'll  have  to  look  into  this  case, 
or  I'll  have  to  do  it  for  you." 

"I'd  like  to  know,  Major  Cutler,  what  possible  right 
you  have  to  dictate  my  action  in  the  matter," 


42  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"We-11,  not  as  you  express  it,  perhaps,"  was  the  calm 
response ;  "yet,  in  a  measure,  I  am  answerable  for  you  as 
a  sort  of  military  sponsor  in  baptism.  My  recommen- 
dation made  you  colonel  of  the  th  Illinois,  and  I 

should  like  to  see  that  you  don't  discredit  it." 

Rolfe  turned  again  disgustedly.  Then  the  rumor  that 
had  reached  his  ears  and  disquieted  his  soul  was  true.  He 
owed  his  unlooked-for  promotion  and  opportunity  to  this 
man,  whom  he  so  disliked.  For  one  moment  he  knew 
not  how  to  answer.  Then  came  blessed  relief. 

From  far  down-stream  a  shout,  and  then  another.  "A 
stretcher!"  "They  want  a  stretcher  from  the  hospital!" 
and  all  three,  now,  the  officers  hastened  toward  the  north 
flank  and  across  the  unnoted  sentry-post,  and  a  muddy 
country  road  leading  down  to  the  now  impassable  ford. 
Beyond  was  another  open  field,  its  fence-rails  recent  sac- 
rifice before  the  altar  of  the  gods  of  war,  and,  beyond 
that,  the  lanterns  were  swinging  back  along  the  brink 
of  the  now  receding  waters.  Almost  as  quickly  as  it  had 
risen,  the  west  fork  was  slipping  away  through  its  self- 
made  sluice-gates,  leaving  above  the  tangled  maze  of  flot- 
sam and  jetsam  the  few  human  victims  of  its  midnight 
attack  upon  the  alien  camp — a  man,  a  youth,  and  a  girl. 

The  man  had  been  struck  in  the  head  and  half- 
drowned.  For  him  they  needed  a  stretcher.  The  girl 
they  had  bundled  in  overcoats,  and,  taking  turns,  the 
hardy  sons  of  Illinois  were  cats-cradling  her  swiftly 
campward,  with  the  youth  striding,  laughing,  alongside- 
laughing  in  spite  of  chattering  teeth  and  water-soaked 
and  bedraggled  clothing,  recognizable  in  spite  "of  their 


The  Rock  of  Criickamauga.  43 

condition  as  the  uniform  of  a  first  lieutenant  of  United 
States  infantry.  "For  the  love  of  the  Lord,"  said  the 
adjutant,  "if  here  isn't  Freeman !" 

And  Freeman  it  was.  He  greeted  his  colonel  with 
punctilious  salute,  but  with  it  a  burst  of  irrepressible 
mirth.  "You  always  did  say,  colonel,  that  I'd  come  to 
grief  somehow,  and  here  I  am.  Drowned  rats  aren't  a 
circumstance.  Never  mind  me,  sir.  I'll  be  all  right  with 
a  drink  of  whisky  and  dry  clothes.  Just  let  doc  look 
after  this  young  lady,  will  you,  please?  It's  Miss  Kittie 
Claiborne,  and  her  father,  sir,  lives  a  mile  up  yonder,  and 
they  were  trying  to  get  me  across.  Creek  had  risen  so 
high  he  butted  a  bough  with  his  head  and  got  swept 
overboard.  We  had  the  devil's  own  time  getting  him 
back  into  the  skiff;  lost  our  sculls  and  got  swept  away 
till  we  finally  fetched  up  in  the  ruck  below  here.  Never 
was  so  glad  to  see  camp  in  my  life.  Thought  we  never 
could  make  you  see  us !" 

And  so  he  rattled  on,  as,  all  together  now,  they  went 
striding  back  to  camp,  one  doctor  having  hurried  on  to 
the  aid  of  the  injured  man,  the  other  assisting  the  girl. 
The  hospital-tent  was  not  far.  Thither  they  bore  her  at 
once,  blue  from  cold,  shivering  and  well-nigh  exhausted, 
yet  consumed  with  anxiety  about  her  father.  The  hos- 
pital matron  and  the  wife  of  the  steward  had  been  roused 
and  were  ready  to  greet  and  minister  to  her.  The  tent- 
flaps  fell  behind  them  as  they  bore  her  to  the  matron's 
bed.  Then  the  chattering  crowd  turned  back  to  meet 
the  injured  man,  now  feebly  rallying  under  swift  repe- 
tition of  native  stimulant.  Then  others  still,  captains  and 


44  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

subalterns,  gathered  about  Freeman's  tent,  plying  him 
with  whisky  and  questions.  He  was  standing  in  a  half- 
barrel  of  hot  water,  rubbing  his  firm  young  flesh  into  a 
glow  with  the  roughest  of  towels,  and  shouting  his  an- 
swers to  those  without,  and  telling  his  tale  to  the  cronies 
within,  the  canvas,  reckless  of  disaster  by  flood  or  field, 
laughing  it  off  as  the  lightest  of  mishaps,  thinking  naught 
of  himself,  as  it  would  seem,  and  much  of  his  would-be 
helpers — to  whom,  on  his  account,  had  come  such  dire 
misfortune — when  a  silence  fell  on  the  fast-diminishing 
party  without.  Then  the  colonel's  voice  was  heard: 

"Getting  on  all  right,  Mr.  Freeman?" 

"All  right,  sir !  All  right,  colonel !  Be  in  dry  clothes 
in  ten  minutes.  Got  a  long  explanation  to  write  this  time, 
sir,"  he  continued,  thinking  whimsically  of  the  many  he 
had  had  to  write  in  cadet  days  because  of  "Ruddy" 
Rolfe's  reports. 

"Time  enough  for  that  later,"  was  the  kindly  answer. 
"Get  dry  and  warm  and  to  bed  now.  Your  elderly 
friend's  all  right;  merely  stunned,  says  the  doctor,  but 
he'd  have  drowned  if  you  hadn't  saved  him,  says  the 
daughter.  Mr.  Allis  has  some  letters  for  you  to  sleep  on 
to-night  and  act  on  to-morrow.  Good  night,  Freeman! 
Good  night,  gentlemen!"  And  the  invisible  colonel  was 
heard  going,  whistling,  away. 

"Isn't  he  a  trump?"  panted  Freeman.  "Never  once 
asked  where  I'd  been  or  what  I'd  been  doing.  Gimme 
those  flannels,  Peck,  old  boy,  and  another  swig  of  the 
whisky.  Help  yourself,  you  fellows.  That's  some  of 
old  Colonel  Morgan's  priceless  Bourbon.  Yes,  come  in, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  45 

Allis.  Just  fill  up  there,  will  you !  Wait  till  I  get  out  o' 
this !" 

Three  minutes  more  and,  glowing,  he  had  thrust  his 
feet  into  warm  woolen  socks  and  his  long  legs  into  uni- 
form trousers,  and  by  the  light  of  the  swinging  lantern 
had  opened  and  read  the  first,  an  official  missive,  his  big, 
blue  eyes  dilating  with  surprise,  then  clouding  with  con- 
cern. 

"Will  you  listen  to  this?"  he  cried,  impulsively,  never 
noting  the  enclosure  that  had  fallen  to  his  feet. 

Headquarters th  Illinois  Infantry  Volunteers, 

Camp  Near  Crab  Orchard,  Kentucky, 

December  — th,  1861. 
Special  Orders  No.  147. 

Pursuant   to    instructions    received    from    the   colonel 

commanding  the th  Brigade,  First  Lieutenant  Edgar 

C.  Freeman  is  relieved  from  duty  with  Company  "C," 
and  will  proceed  without  unnecessary  delay  to  Liberty, 
Kentucky,  and  report  in  person  to  Brigadier-general 
George  H.  Thomas,  U.  S.  V.  By  order  of 

COLONEL  ROLFE. 

R.    M.   Allis,    Lieutenant  and   Adjutant  -    — th   Illinois 
Volunteers. 

"Now,  what  the  devil  does  that  mean,  Allis  ?" 
The  adjutant  stood  just  within  the  door  of  the  tent, 
his  face  as  sphinxlike  as  he  knew  how  to  make  it,  Rolfe 
having  told  him  the  model  adjutant  should  never  discuss 
the  commander's  orders. 

"You  know  as  much  as  I,"  was  the  blunt  answer.  "The 
general  hasn't  seen  fit  to  explain  matters  to  me"  Down 
in  the  depths  of  his  soul  Mr.  Allis  was  in  hopes  that  the 
general  meant  that  Freeman  should  explain  matters  to 


46  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

him,  and  that  the  letters  yet  unopened  might  tell  why. 
In  this  expectation  he  waited.  Some  one  had  picked  up 
the  note  at  Freeman's  feet  and  now  held  it  forth  to  him. 
The  laughter  had  gone  from  the  young  officer's  lips.  His 
face  had  changed.  He  gave  one  glance  at  the  superscrip- 
tion as  he  took  the  note  in  his  hand.  A  sudden  light 
shone  in  his  blue  eyes.  A  sudden  color  sprang  to  his 
cheeks.  Impulsively  he  started  to  break  the  seal,  then 
slowly  ceased  and  looked  at  the  silent  faces  about  him. 
One  man  quickly  rose  from  his  seat  on  the  camp-cot. 

"Well,  if  there's  anything  you  need,  Freeman,  let  a 
fellow  know.  I'll  say  good  night.  Come  on,  Pete,"  and 
with  this  hint  to  others  he  started  for  the  open  tent  door. 

"Have  another  nip  before  you  go,  Fletcher? — No? — 
Nor  any  of  you?"  suggested  Freeman,  with  reviving 
presence  of  mind.  "Well,  I've  got  to  pull  on  my  think- 
ing-cap and  get  what  sleep  I  can."  So,  reluctantly,  an- 
other followed,  and  left  only  three — Freeman,  Rawson, 
his  second  lieutenant  and  tentmate,  and  Allis.  It  was  the 
last  named  who  spoke : 

"You  haven't  opened  your — other  letter  yet."  But  Al- 
lis concluded  it  useless  to  stay  when  Freeman  promptly 
and  pointedly  answered: 

"No,  Allis,  and  I'm  not  going  to  till  I  read  this  one 
first,  and  it  looks  like  a  long  one."  / 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  storm  had  gone.  The  floods  had  subsided.  The 
sun  was  breaking  through  the  low-hanging,  fleecy  clouds 
at  the  east,  and  peering  inquisitively  into  the  drenched 
and  dripping  valley  as  though  it,  too,  had  something  on 
its  mind,  something  to  investigate,  and  a  report  to  make 
to  superior  authority.  The  inquisitive  sun  and  the  visit- 
ing major  were  up  together,  and  while  the  former  held 
to  its  accustomed  "right  line"  the  latter  was  making  the 
rounds.  It  was  after  time  for  reveille,  and  reveille  had 
not  sounded,  and  Rolfe  had  so  ordered  before  finally  turn- 
ing in  for  the  night,  without  so  much  as  referring  the 
matter  to  Cutler,  and  Cutler  loved  to  be  referred  to,  still 
more  to  be  deferred  to,  and  in  Rolfe  he  had  found  neither 
reference  nor  deference,  but,  instead,  a  vexatious  and  in- 
dependent spirit.  There  are  some  men,  there  are  per- 
haps as  many  women,  to  whom  the  contemplation  of  the 
harmonious  and  well-ordered  movement  of  the  universe 
is  in  some  measure  a  sore  trial ;  they  would  be  glad  to  in- 
ject a  comet  or  two  if  only  to  stir  things.  Cutler  could 
never  hear  a  letter  read,  an  order  prepared,  a  resolution 
adopted,  without  a  hankering  to  amend  it  somehow.  And 
now  he  was  up  and  astir  with  the  sun,  standing  astraddle 
in  front  of  his  sleeping-quarters  for  the  night — a  spare 
tent  pitched  by  that  of  the  colonel — with  his  hands  deep  in 
his  big  overcoat  pockets,  and  his  head  in  the  heart  of  a 
plot.  Half  the  night  he  had  been  prodding  his  brain  for 


48  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

some  explanation  of  this  connection  of  Freeman  with  the 
unknown  correspondent  beyond  the  lines,  and  Thomas's 
possible  connection  with  both,  and  the  connection  of  both 
Thomas  and  Freeman  with  these  transplanted  Virginians 
at  the  homestead  on  the  distant  hill.  He  was  itching  to 
be  up  and  doing,  finding  out  something.  He  wished  to 
see  the  trooper  who  brought  the  letters,  and  to  ask  who 
told  him  to  first  inquire  for  the  lieutenant  at  the  Morgans'. 
He  wished  to  see  the  soldier  who  was  in  conversation 
with  the  colonel,  and  to  ask  him  what  it  was  that  Lieu- 
tenant Freeman  had  said  or  done  that  he  shouldn't  have 
said  or  done.  He  wished  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
Freeman  himself,  to  find  out  what  Thomas  had  written 
and  what  that  other  letter  was  about,  or  else  find  that 
Freeman  wouldn't  tell  him,  in  which  event  his  suspicions 
would  be  verified.  He  wanted  to  interview  the  elderly 
boatman  who  had  risked  so  much  trying  to  bring  Free- 
man in  from  the  wet  and  out  of  trouble.  He  wanted  to 
"interview"  the  young  girl,  his  daughter,  she  who  had 
told  what  Freeman  had  not — that  the  young  officer  nearly 
drowned  himself  in  the  struggle  to  save  her  drowning 
father.  Barely  a  month  had  the  regiment  camped  there- 
abouts, and  this  high-mettled  young  fellow  had  scraped 
acquaintance  with  the  whole  county.  All  this  and  more 
had  Cutler  in  mind  as  once  again  he  tugged  at  his  fob 
and  consulted  his  watch.  Almost  seven,  and  the  regiment 
still  sleeping  in  unsoldierly  sloth  and  idleness.  "Let  'em 
sleep,"  Rolfe  had  said  to  the  officer  of  the  day.  "Don't 
have  reveille  before  seven.  Give  'em  all  a  chance  to  dry 
out  under  their  blankets." 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  49 


The  guard  and  the  cooks,  the  stablemen  and  orderlies, 
with  a  few  early  birds  from  each  company,  were  appar- 
ently the  only  men  astir,  and  many  of  these  had  gone 
down  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  and  were  looking  out  over 
the  oozy,  mud-coated  bed  of  last  night' s  flood.  Some- 
thing in  the  midst  of  inaccessible  rubbish  had  attracted 
attention.  Cutler  concluded  he  might  as  well  look  into 
that  as  remain  here  doing  nothing,  so  thither  he  wended 
his  way,  and  thereby  missed  a  chance,  yet  found  a  clue. 

Not  ten  minutes  had  he  been  gone  when,  from  the  line 
of  company  officers'  tents,  a  tall,  young  soldier  appeared, 
coming  straight  for  the  spot  so  lately  occupied  by  the 
major.  It  was  Freeman,  erect,  alert,  and  presentable  in 
spite  of  shabby  attire.  The  handsome  uniform  worn  the 
day  before  being  practically  ruined,  he  had  donned  his 
second-best  frock  coat,  made  for  him  six  months  earlier 
in  Chicago,  by  an  artist  whose  nearest  approach  to  pre- 
vious acquaintance  with  the  soldier  garb  of  the  day  was 
the  clerical  coat  of  the  church  militant.  In  place  of  the 
heavy,  dark-blue  "cloak  coat"  then  prescribed  in  regula- 
tions as  the  overcoat  for  all  officers,  he  had  obtained  one 
of  the  cheap,  coarse,  light-blue,  brass-buttoned  affairs 
used  by  the  rank  and  file.  Top-boots  and  a  slouch  hat 
completed  his  attire,  so  far  as  visible,  and  even  Freeman, 
a  dandy  from  boyhood,  could  not  look  happy  in  such 
motley  as  that.  The  flaps  of  the  marquee  were  down, 
but  he  listened  at  the  narrow  opening ;  called  in  low  tone, 
"Colonel— Colonel  Rolfe!"  and  then,  after  a  moment's 
irresolute  pause,  strode  away  toward  the  tent  of  the  ad- 
jutant, an  official-sized  letter  in  his  hand. 


50  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

No  ceremony  attended  his  arrival  here. 

"Up,  Allis?"  he  cried.  "If  not,  it's  time  you  were. 
Here's  my  explanation  for  the  colonel,  and  I'm  off  in  ten 
minutes." 

A  sleepy  yawn  and  a  disgusted  sniff  were  for  a  mo- 
ment the  only  reply.  "Here  you  are,"  continued  the  un- 
welcome visitor,  thrusting  letter  and  arm  within;  then, 
turning,  was  stalking  away  when  Allis  hailed: 

"Oh,  Freeman  ?  Hello !  How  you  going  ?  Had  break- 
fast?" 

"All  I  want — here,"  was  the  blunt  answer,  indicative 
of  prospective  feasting  en  route.  "Got  Butler's  horse 
first  half  of  the  way." 

"But  you  don't  know  the  way,"  persisted  Allis,  up  now 
and  showing  a  tousled  head  from  the  canvas. 

"The  orderly  does — the  man  who  brought  it.  He  goes 
back  with  me.  Good  luck — good-by."  And  then,  half- 
unwillingly,  Freeman  turned  again  and  held  forth  his 
hand.  He  and  Allis,  somehow,  had  never  been  congenial. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  own  fault ;  but  the  fact  was  the  same. 
Allis  took  it  and  held  on.  He  had  more  to  ask : 

"Why,  what's  your  hurry?  Why  not  wait  till  the 
roads  dry?" 

"Roads  are  all  right  enough  once  you  get  out  of  this 
mudhole.  Good-by  again.  Say  good-by  to  the  crowd. 
I  suppose  we'll  all  be  together  again  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Well — don't  you  know  anything  ?  Can't  you  tell  what 
it's  for  now?" 

"No  more  than  you  can,  Allis.  Take  care  of  yourself, 
and  give  my  love  to  the  colonel ;"  and  with  that  Freeman 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


was  gone,  the  adjutant  watching  his  buoyant  stride  in 
obvious  perplexity,  not  unmixed  with  disappointment. 
Freeman  was  going  with  evident  relish.  Reprimand  was 
the  least  thing  Allis  thought  in  store  for  him,  and  Free- 
man looked  as  though  it  were  the  last.  General  Thomas's 
letter  could  not  have  contained  a  word  of  rebuke.  What, 
then,  did  it  contain  ? 

And  then  finally  came  reveille,  and  then  the  belated 
breakfast  of  the  field  and  staff,  and  then  inquiries  for 
Major  Cutler,  unaccountably  absent.  His  tent  was  empty. 
He  had  not  been  seen  since  the  arrival  of  the  colonel's 
orderly  before  the  drum-beat.  "Go  look  for  the  major 
and  tell  him  breakfast  is  getting  cold,"  briefly  said  the 
colonel.  He  was  thinking  intently  of  the  rather  long 
communication  he  had  just  read,  and  had  locked  in  a 
despatch-box,  a  very  frank  explanation  on  part  of  Lieu- 
tenant Freeman  of  his  military  misdemeanor  of  the  pre- 
vious day.  Even  when  all  had  finished  breakfast  Cutler 
was  still  missing,  but  the  orderly  came. 

"The  major's  compliments,  and  he'd  had  coffee  with 
Company  'C  and  didn't  need  breakfast.  He'd  be  back 
presently." 

"Where'd  you  find  him?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"Down  below  the  next  field,  sir.  They'd  found  Lieu- 
tenant Freeman's  overcoat  lodged  in  some  willows  and 
were  fetching  it  back." 

But  it  was  nearly  an  hour  before  Cutler  came  saunter- 
ing up  the  grassy  slope,  hands  in  his  pockets  as  before, 
and  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head.  His  eyes  seemed  bigger 
than  ever,  and  his  mood  as  absorbed.  No,  he  needed  no 


52  Jhe  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

breakfast — wasn't  much  of  a  feeder  at  any  time.  No,  he 
thought  he'd  write  a  bit  if  Rolfe  wasn't  going  to  use  his 
desk.  So  Rolfe  went  off  to  look  to  the  drying-out  of  his 
regiment,  and  inspect  losses  and  damages,  fortunately 
slight,  an4  not  until  noon  did  he  see  Cutler  again.  By 
that  time  the  sun  ha4  been  shining  in  unclouded  splen- 
dor four  brilliant  hours.  The  canvas  was  turned  white 
again.  The  elderly  patient,  Freeman's  friend  of  the  night 
Before,  a  farmer  in  a  small  way,  it  seems,  had  been  driven 
home  in  the  yellow  ambulance,  his  gentle  daughter  in  at- 
tendance, escorted  by  the  junior  surgeon  of  the  regiment 
ancj  three  or  four  neighbors  who  had  come  saddleback, 
a.fter  the  gqq4  old  Kentucky  fashion,  to  aid  him.  Rolfe 
had  been  to  express  his  thanks  for  their  effort  to  be  of 
s_eryice  to  his  officer,  and  to  say  that  Mr.  Freeman  had 
written,  charging  him  to  thank  them  again  and  to  see 
that  every  loss  and  damage  was  settled  for.  Moreover, 
Freeman  had  written  to  his  colonel  still  more  concerning 
the  Claibornes.  It  was  raining,  Freeman  said,  when  he 
reached  their  modest  hqrne  toward  half-past  eight.  He 
had  been  £Q  the  JVforgans'  on  the  hill,  having  crossed 
the  fork  at  the  stepping-stones  a  mile  above  camp  when 
going  thither  before  dark,  and  was  surprised  to  find  them 
under  water  on  his  return.  Mr.  Claiborne  said  it  must 
have  been  raining  pitchforks  in  the  hills  to  set  the  fork 
in  such  a  flood,  but,  opposite  the  farmhouse  was  a  broad, 
shallow,  and  usually  quiet  pool — the  duck-pond  and  water- 
ing-place— and  Claiborne  had  thought  to  paddle  across 
without  trouble.  Kate,  his  brave  daughter,  had  insisted 
on  going,  too,  to  help  him  back.  They  pushed  out  from 


The  Rock  of  Chfckamauga.  53 

the  bank,  little  dreamitig  of  the  strength  of  the  current, 
and  were  swept  like  a  cockle-shell  into  some  brushwood  a 
hundred  yards  below,  where  they  were  held  fast,  helpless, 
unable  to  go  in  any  direction,  and  there,  furiously  pelted 
by  the  storm,  they  lay  exposed  until  the  rising  flood 
finally  tore  away  brushwood  and  all.  Then  down  they 
whirled  with  the  torrent  until  Claiborne  was  knocked 
overboard,  and  Freeman,  with  the  boat's  painter  in  one 
hand,  had  plunged  after  and  finally  got  him  again  aboard, 
and  the  colonel  knew  the  rest.  Freeman  had  earlier  taken 
off  his  overcoat  to  wrap  around  the  girl,  and  in  the  strug- 
gle to  save  the  father  that  had  disappeared.  Freeman 
hoped  it  might  be  found,  and  had  left  word  with  Raw- 
son,  his  tentmate,  what  to  do  with  the  contents  of  the 
pockets. 

And  Rawson,  his  tentmate,  had  come  to  see  the  colonel 
just  as  the  drums  and  fifes  Were  proclaiming  the  dinner 
hour  with  the  jovial  strains  of  "Roa'st  Beef  of  Old  Eng- 
land," just  as  the  colonel  himself,  with  the  ever  faithful 
Allis,  came  trotting  up  from  a  visit  to  the  guard,  after  an 
hour's  exploration  of  the  valley,  and  Cutler,  still  seated 
at  the  colonel's  desk  engrossed  in  his  writing,  lifted  up 
the  clean-shaven  face  and  listened  a  minute,  then  drove 
on  with  his  accustomed  quill.  "The  steel  pen,"  said 
Cutler,  "deserves  its  name." 

"I  found  some  of  the  things  that  should  be  in  the 
pockets,  colonel,"  said  Rawson,  "but  there  was  a  little 
bunch  of  letters  mentioned  and  a  flat  memorandum-book 
that  I  can't  find  anywhere/' 

"Sorry,  Mr.  Rawson/'  said  the  colonel  briefly,  "but 


54  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

I'm  glad  the  valuables  are  safe.  The  others  are  probably 
a  foot  deep  in  mud." 

Rawson  hesitated  a  moment ;  glanced  irresolutely  at  the 
major,  seated  absorbed  in  thought  within  the  battered 
canvas  of  the  marquee ;  finally  answered,  "I'm  sorry,  too, 
sir,"  and  turned  away. 

"Rolfe,"  said  Cutler  presently,  "I've  ordered  my  horse 
for  one  o'clock,  and  am  going  out  for  a  ride.  My  or- 
derly is  a  stupid  sort  of  an  ass,  and  if  you  don't  mind 
I'll  take  that  man — O'Reilly,  is  it?— with  me." 

The  young  colonel  had  just  dismounted,  and  was  rue- 
fully contemplating  his  mud-bespattered  high  boots,  while 
the  adjutant,  the  orderly,  and  the  colonel's  big  chestnut 
sorrel  ("a  match  for  his  hair,"  said  the  regiment)  went 
rejoicefully  on  their  way  to  dinner.  For  a  moment  Rolfe 
did  not  look  up.  Something  in  the  proposition  struck 
him  unfavorably,  yet  he  could  neither  name  it,  nor,  with- 
out reason,  could  he  well  refuse. 

"You  are  welcome  to  any  man  you  need,  Major  Cut- 
ler," said  he  finally.  He  was  still  chafing  over  the 
thought  that  it  was  to  Cutler  in  great  measure  he  was 
indebted  for  his  colonelcy — "but — how  far  were  you 
going?" 

"Oh,  up  and  down  and  around ;  just  exploring." 

"Were  you  thinking  of  exploring  at  the  Morgans'  ?" 

"Well,  possibly,"  and  Cutler's  face  put  on  its  favorite 
guise  of  inscrutable  mystery  and  all-comprehending  wis- 
dom. 

"Well,  you'll  miss  them.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  riding 
a  mile  with  the  old  gentleman,  his  wife,  and  their  very 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  55 

pretty  daughter  this  morning  on  their  way  over  to  Lib- 
erty, and  Freeman  escorts  them  the  rest  of  the  way." 

"H'm,"  said  Cutler,  with  a  roll  of  his  eyes  that  fixed 
finally  on  his  boot-toes.  "I  might  have  foreseen  that. 
Thomas  is  there." 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  floods  of  heaven  seemed  to  have  washed  the  skies, 
for  the  December  sunshine  beamed  in  cloudless  radiance 
over  hill  and  vale.  Even  the  zigzag  country  roads  were 
passable  by  afternoon,  and,  except  in  the  deep  valley  of 
the  west  fork,  where  the  torrent  had  torn  the  low  banks 
and  its  bordering  farm  and  pasture-lands,  rural  Kentucky 
was  looking  bright  as  a  button,  and  buttons  were  bright 
and  many,  as  a  little  party  of  travelers  drove  in  sight  of 
the  scattered  hamlet  of  Liberty.  Out  in  the  one  level 
field  near  the  Columbia  Road  an  ambitious  young  captain 
had  started  a  riding-school — a  rare  thing  in  those  days  and 
that  section  of  these  United  States,  where  people  seemed 
to  imbibe  the  principles  of  horsemanship  with  the  mother's 
milk.  It  was  this  fact  perhaps  that  made  the  exhibition 
of  a  luckless  dozen  the  more  conspicuous.  In  the  center 
of  the  field  sat  the  ringmaster ;  "a  centaur  of  attraction," 
said  the  elderly  gentleman  in  a  mud-bespattered  carry- 
all, drawn  up  by  the  fence;  whereat  there  was  a  fond 
smile  in  the  sweet,  care-worn  face  beside  him,  and  the 
merriment  and  mischief  deepened  in  the  fair  young  face 
on  the  seat  in  the  rear,  and  a  tall  officer  in  saddle  smiled 
appreciatively  as  he  rejoined,  "They  tell  me  Sam  Weth- 
erby  was  born  straddle-legged."  Around  this  center  re- 
volved the  recruits,  each  astride  an  active  and  deeply  in- 
terested native  to  the  soil,  and  eight  out  of  the  twelve 
as  utterly  uncomfortable  as  their  chargers'  antics  or  their 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  57 

comrades'  remarks  could  possibly  make  them.  Captain 
Sam  Wetherby,  a  gentleman  born,  as  Freeman  put  it,  to 
the  saddle,  had  lately  received  a  draft  of  recruits  for  his 
troop  of  the  Wolford  Cavalry.  The  bulk  of  his  men 
were  born  in  the  blue  grass  counties  and  bred  to  that 
line  of  business.  The  band  of  recruits  had  been  sent  him 
from  Louisville  and  "must  have  learned  ridin'  on  the 
river,"  as  the  first  sergeant  said.  The  tents  of  the  troop 
were  pitched  on  the  slope  to  the  north  of  the  road,  but 
two-thirds  of  the  troop  were  perched  on  the  fence  to  the 
north  and  east  of  it,  cheerfully  seconding  with  unsought 
suggestion  the  motions  of  the  mounts  and  the  comments 
of  Captain  Sam,  which  latter  were  caustic. 

It  is  not  in  the  make-up  of  the  average  Westerner, 
when  in  pursuit  of  pleasure  to  abandon  a  fine  point  of 
view  in  favor  of  others.  Altruism  with  him  takes  on  an 
altogether  different  form,  and  it  was  not  the  fact  that  an 
officer  rode  by  the  side  of  the  carryall  that  prevailed  in 
this  case,  but  the  face  of  the  girl  within  it.  Half  a  dozen 
laughing  young  sons  of  Kentucky  had  slid  from  their 
perch  on  the  top  rail,  and  sidled  to  the  right  or  left  in 
order  that  the  occupants  of  the  vehicle  might  have  un- 
obstructed view,  and,  for  the  first  time  since  the  fun  be- 
gan, the  show  in  the  field  was  eclipsed  by  that  at  the 
fence.  Men  who  had  been  content  to  sit  and  look  on 
from  the  east  end  now  found  it  expedient  to  move  toward 
the  western,  beyond  the  wagon.  "The  sun  was  gittin*  in 
my  face,"  said  Corporal  Crow.  "An'  now  it's  the  daugh- 
ter," grinned  Trooper  Todd,  for  she  was  certainly  facing 
their  way. 


58  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

It  was  the  prettiest  face  they  had  seen  in  six  months, 
these  saddle-bred  sons  of  the  blue  grass ;  there  was  none 
of  their  number  to  gainsay  that.  Cherry  lips  and  soft- 
flushing  cheeks  and  pearly  teeth  and  sparkling  eyes  and 
a  wealth  of  hair  of  the  real  Titian  golden  red — rare 
color  in  Kentucky,  but  this,  as  Colonel  Morgan  proudly 
explained,  was  a  Virginia  product.  "Almost  the  color 
of  the  sacred  soil  'long  the  Rivanna,  suh."  Moreover, 
this  was  no  pensive  beauty,  this  maid  of  eighteen,  but  a 
joyous,  healthful,  mirthful,  mischievous  bit  of  feminine 
loveliness  as  blithe  and  buoyant  as  a  summer  breeze,  and, 
as  was  speedily  to  be  seen,  as  coquettish  as  a  Dolly  Var- 
den.  The  troop  still  kept  up  its  fire  of  comment  and  sug- 
gestion, but  their  remarks  were  now  directed  less  with  a 
view  of  galling  their  natural  prey,  the  recruits,  than  of 
diverting  and  impressing  the  girl.  The  birds  of  the  air 
in  their  mating  moments  are  no  more  given  to  "showing 
off"  for  the  gentler  sex  than  are  the  young  cocks  of  the 
walk  in  the  land  of  our  birth,  and  some  of  the  sallies 
made  Miss  Morgan  shake  with  laughter,  the  more  so  as 
it  speedily  appeared  that  to  the  gallant  in  saddle  beside 
her  they  did  not  seem  witty  at  all.  The  troop  had  been 
under  the  spell  of  her  beauty  no  more  than  ten  minutes, 
but  Ned  Freeman  had  been  spellbound  the  best  of  a 
month.  It  was  easy  to  be  seen  that  in  even  so  brief  a 
space  of  time  Frances  Morgan's  eyes  and  ways  had  been 

playing  havoc  with  the  tall,  young  subaltern  of  the th 

Illinois. 

"Without  delay,"  his  orders  had  read,  he  was  required 
to  report  in  person  to  General  Thomas  at  the  county 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


town  of  Liberty.  It  stood  not  thirty  miles  from  the 
regimental  camp  on  the  fork,  provided  one  could  go  di- 
rect, but  might  well  seem  farther  over  such  roads  and 
in  such  weather.  Without  unnecessary  delay  had  he 
started  on  a  quartermaster's  horse  and  with  Trooper 
Burns  for  a  guide,  but  civility  demanded  a  detour  to  the 
Morgan  place,  lest  the  old  colonel  and  his  good  wife 
should  be  anxious  concerning  him,  and  there  was  he  hos- 
pitably bidden  to  alight  and  breakfast,  after  the  noble  old 
Virginia  way,  and  while  there  it  transpired  that  the 
Morgans  and  the  Thomases  had  been  well  known  to  each 
other,  Mrs.  Morgan  and  Mrs.  Thomas,  the  general's 
Huguenot  mother,  had  been  neighbors,  and,  despite  dis- 
parity in  years,  devoted  friends.  They,  too,  had  reason 
to  be  going  that  day  to  meet  the  general  during  this  brief 
inspection  of  his  line,  and  they  were  quite  as  well  in- 
formed as  Freeman  as  to  the  general's  whereabouts. 
What  more  natural  than  that  the  young  officer  should 
be  persuaded  to  stop  an  hour  and  then  escort  them,  or 
that  the  hour  given  to  preparation  for  the  start  should 
lengthen  to  two  and  a  half?  More  reason  than  one  had 
Freeman  for  chafing  over  the  delay.  It  wasn't  so  bad 
while  the  elders  were  busy  about  the  homestead.  It  was 
anything  but  good,  however,  when  his  dashing  young 
colonel  came  riding  up  just  as  they  finally  cleared  the 
gates  and,  being  formally  presented  by  the  embarrassed 
subaltern,  decided  on  riding  alongside  a  rod  or  two,  and 
the  rods  spread  like  the  hour,  for  Fanny  Morgan's  lovely 
eyes  made  play  from  the  start,  and  Fanny  Morgan  went 
into  raptures  over  Colonel  Morgan's  spirited  mount, 


60  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"Red  Chief,"  so  long  as  the  colonel  rode  alongside,  and 
over  the  colonel's  soldierly  form  and  bearing  and  riding 
as  soon  as  he  left.  Poor  Freeman,  with  all  his  hand- 
some face  and  slender  figure,  was  but  a  novice  in  saddle, 
and  his  mount  but  a  sorry  specimen.  Moreover,  the 
colonel's  uniform  was  spick  and  span,  new  and  elegant, 
while'  the  lieutenant's  was  shabby.  A  thousand  times 
that  day  the  unhappy  fellow  wished  he  had  put  tempta- 
tion and  "The  Oaks"  aside  and  ridden  sturdily  westward 
from  the  start.  He  might  then  have  been  at  Liberty  at 
early  afternoon.  Now  it  was  nearly  four.  "The  Knight 
of  the  Rueful  Countenance,"  she  had  called  him,  and  well 
he  knew  why.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  give  her  a 
piece  of  it  before  they  parted,  but  opportunity  seemed  to 
be  lacking.  He  had  thought  to  display  independence  by 
saying  adieu,  right  here  and  now,  on  the  plea  that  he 
had  lost  much  time  already,  and  "General  Thomas  might 
be  waiting,"  whereupon  Miss  Morgan  had  laughed  the 
more  merrily  and  said  she  "reckoned"  General  Thomas 
didn't  wait  much  for  anybody,  a  statement  promptly  cor- 
roborated by  a  Kentuckian  only  too  glad  of  a  chance  to 
chime  in,  who  said,  "That's  right,  miss,  and,  what's  more, 
the  general  ain't  been  waitin'.  He's  over  yonder  now  on 
the  Somerset  Road,  an'  hasn't  been  in  camp  since  early 
morning." 

So  poor  Freeman  hung  on  and  sat  gloomily  watching 
the  unwilling  circus  in  the  field  in  front,  with  occasional 
glance  at  her  mantling  cheek  (How  rosy  it  looked  over 
the  fur  boa  in  that  eager  December  air!),  and  so  was 
unaware  of  the  next  arrival^  or  that  there  had  been  an- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  61 

qther  arrival,  until  he  noted  a  cessation  in  the  fire  of  chaff 
about  him,  and  the  fact  that  a  number  of  the  men  (not 
all,  for  we  had  not  yet  drilled  the  American  into  the  ob- 
servances of  the  soldier)  had  slid  down  from  the  fence 
and  that  some  of  the  number  were  uplifting  hands  in 
awkward  but  avowed  salute. 

For,  all  unattended,  another  horseman  had  ridden  into 
the  field,  and,  seated  in  saddle  barely  a  dozen  yards  away, 
and  still  behind  the  occupants  of  the  carryall,  was 
gravely,  silently  watching  the  performance.  Freeman 
himself  would  not  have  noted  but  for  the  unusual  demon- 
stration of  respect.  Now,  for  the  moment  forgetful  of 
his  fellow  travelers,  he  gazed  with  all  his  eyes. 

A  man  of  more  than  average  stature  was  this  who  sat 
there  in  unconscious  dignity,  tall,  strong,  and  heavily  built. 
His  chest  and  shoulders  were  massive.  The  poise  of  his 
head  was  firm  and  fine,  and  the  sunny  hair  that  curled 
crisply  beneath  the  broad  hat-brim,  and  the  tawny,  red- 
gold  beard,  not  yet  showing  a  strain  of  silver,  gave  a 
leonine  coloring  to  the  strongly  leonine  pose.  Eyes  of 
bluish-gray,  large  and  full,  peered  from  beneath  the  heavy 
thatch  of  his  brows  in  a  steadfast,  unwinking,  all  com- 
prehending way  that  seemed  to  overlook  nothing  within 
range.  The  soft  felt  hat  of  black,  with  but  a  rusty  cord, 
pulled  down  low  over  his  brows,  concealed  a  forehead 
broad  and  high.  The  features,  except  for  a  long,  thin 
nose,  were  large;  the  chin  especially  being  square  and 
strong.  He  sat  high  in  saddle  because  of  his  length  of 
torso,  but  his  seat  was  firm  and  easy.  His  powerful  legs, 
cased  in  top-boots  to  the  knees,  hung  close  to  the  barrel 


62  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

of  his  big-boned  and  strongly  built  charger — a  blooded 
bay.  He  was  clad  in  the  double-breasted  frock  of  a  field- 
officer  of  cavalry.  Brigadier-general  he  had  been  since 
August,  and  not  yet  had  he  donned  the  garb  of  his  rank. 
Shoulder-straps  of  faded  yellow  bore  the  eagle  of  his 
regular  commission,  that  of  colonel,  which,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  many  a  soul  at  Washington  and  more  to  the 
South,  he  had  not  resigned  as  had  his  predecessor  in  that 
rank  and  station,  Sidney  Johnston,  and  his  seniors  in 
the  regiment,  Lee  and  Hardee.  He  had  returned  scrupu- 
lously and  gravely  the  salutes  tender2d  him  by  certain  of 
the  troop;  had  ignored  the  fact  that  certain  others,  unac- 
customed from  boyhood  to  any  show  of  deference  to  any- 
body, had  rendered  no  salute;  and  then  became  absorbed 
in  the  impromptu  school  before  him. 

At  his  coming  there  was  speedy  end  to  the  jibes  of 
the  lookers-on,  a  fact  quickly  noted  by  the  occupants  of 
the  carryall,  Miss  Frances  Morgan  being  the  first  to 
turn,  and  instead  of  finding  Mr.  Freeman's  blue  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  in  adoring,  imploring  appeal,  lo!  he  had 
turned  his  back  and  was  lost  in  contemplation  of  the 
new  arrival  in  the  field.  Before  she  could  find  words  to 
fittingly  rebuke  the  defection  of  the  younger  officer  her 
father  had  caught  sight  of  the  senior.  A  light  of  wel- 
come flashed  over  his  care-worn  face,  and  he  was  on 
the  point  of  calling  to  his  old-time  neighbor  when  the 
latter  gave  rein  to  his  steed  and  rode  slowly  toward  the 
ring.  Seeing  this,  the  instructor  ordered  halt  and  dis- 
mount, most  eagerly  yet  awkwardly  obeyed,  then  "fox- 
trotted" out  to  meet  his  commander. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  63 

"Some  greenhorns,  general,"  he  said,  with  a  graceful 
inclination  of  the  head  and  a  deprecatory  wave  of  the 
hand.  "I've  been  trying  to  shake  'em  down  into  some 
kind  of  a  seat,  but  I  reckon  it  will  take  from  now  till 
next  grass  to  do  it." 

The  general  allowed  no  symptom  of  disapprobation  to 
escape  him.  Never  demonstrative,  never  effusive,  some- 
times so  impassive  as  to  seem  unsympathetic,  he  was 
courtesy  itself  in  his  bearing  to  his  juniors.  He  thought 
a  moment  before  he  spoke,  and  then  spoke  simply  and 
kindly : 

"We  made  rather  a  study  of  that  in  my  regiment. 
Some  of  the  best  young  horsemen  came  to  us  each  year 
from  the  Point;  they  all  took  a  hand  in  training  the  re- 
cruits, and,  after  all,  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
old  way  was  the  sure  way.  To  give  a  young  fellow  a 
good  seat  and  a  little  confidence,  there's  nothing  better 
than  the  snaffle  and  the  slow  trot." 

"Reckon  you  may  be  right,  general,"  answered  the 
captain.  "These  curbs  are  rough  in  such  hands,  but 
they're  all  we  got;  all  we  could  get,  in  fact." 

"True,"  said  Thomas.  "The  new  cavalry  bridle  has 
nothing  but  the  curb,  and  many  a  mouth — and  temper — 
is  spoiled  in  consequence.  It  is  easier  to  teach  the  seat 
than  the  hand.  You  notice  how  those  horses  were  fret- 
ting. Now,  my  way  would  be  to  lead  out  with  only 
watering  bridle  and  blanket;  no  stirrups,  no  saddle,  to 
start  with;  teach  them  to  mount,  then  keep  them  at  the 
jog-trot  ten  days  or  so  till  they  grow  to  the  horse.  Do 
that,  and,"  with  a  quiet  glance  around  the  deeply  inter- 


64  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

ested  fringe  of  listeners,  "limit  the  number,  and  the  com- 
ments, of  your  spectators,  and  the  result  will  surprise 
you.  Try  it  a  while,  and  tell  me  how  you  find  it  works.'* 
Then,  before  turning  away,  "And,  captain,  I  shall  need 
two  patrols  to-night.  Pick  your  sergeants  carefully. 
Good  evening,  sir." 

And  so,  alone  and  unattended,  as  he  came,  with  not 
so  much  as  an  aide-de-camp,  or  even  an  orderly,  the  gen- 
eral commanding  the  newly  organized  division  started  at 
his  accustomed  gait,  sober  and  slow,  to  ride  from  the 
field,  and  Captain  Wetherby,  with  a  touch  of  his  cap- 
vizor,  sat  grinning  after  him. 

"Don't  wonder  they  called  him  'Old  Slow  Trot'  in  the 
cavalry,"  said  he  to  the  stripling  lieutenant  who  had 
joined  him.  "Heard  my  cousin  George  Crittenden  tell  of 
him  many  a  time.  What  is  it?  Who  wants  to  see  him? 
Well,  run  along,  sonny,  an'  tell  him.  /  got  to  send  these 
hyuh  fellows  home!" 

And  so  the  division  commander,  riding  thoughtfully 
away  toward  a  gap  in  the  fence,  found  himself  over- 
taken by  a  young  Kentuckian  afoot.  '  'Scuse  me,  gen- 
eral," said  he,  "but  there's  some  folks  over  yahnduh 
would  like  mightily  to  speak  to  you  a  moment.  Gentle- 
man's name  is  Morgan,  suh." 

The  lion  face  lighted  with  pleasure.  "Which  way?" 
was  the  question.  "Thank  you  very  much,  sir."  But 
even  now  the  heavy  horseman  barely  quickened  the  pace. 
He  rode  straight  for  the  wagon,  the  silver-blue  eyes  kin- 
dling as  he  neared  it  and  recognized  the  head  of  the 
little  family. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


"Colonel  Morgan,  old  friend  !  I'm  glad  you  came." 
He  had  ridden  as  close  to  the  wagon  as  the  fence  would 
allow,  and  there  thrust  forth  a  gauntleted  hand.  But  the 
distance  was  too  great.  In  an  instant  half  a  dozen  young 
fellows,  roosting  on  the  top  rail  as  the  general  turned, 
then  popping  off  like  so  many  frogs  at  his  nearer  ap- 
proach, now  dove  under  his  horse's  head,  and  in  a  twin- 
kling had  demolished  the  obstacle.  "Thank  you,  my 
lads,"  said  the  general  gravely;  then  rode  in  close  and, 
with  eyes  that  softened  inexpressibly,  looked  down  into 
Mrs.  Morgan's  kindly,  smiling  face.  "You've  come  all 
this  way  to  talk  about  Donald,"  said  he,  "and  I  should 
have  gone  to  you." 

He  had  leaned  forward  now  over  the  arching  neck, 
and  both  his  hands  were  clasped  in  those  of  his  visitors  ; 
ancj  Freeman,  silently  observant,  could  not  but  see  that 
in  this  meeting  of  old  friends  there  was  something  of 
emotion  that  none  of  them  could  entirely  master.  The 
mother's  eyes  had  welled  up  with  sudden  tears. 

"I  knew  where  to  find  you,"  continued  Thomas.  "I 
had  hoped  to  ride  over  this  week;  but  here  you  are,  and 
this,"  he  added  kindly,  "this  is  little  Fan,  who  used  to 
'ride  a  cock-horse  to  Banbury  Cross/  "  and  a  hand  went 
out  to  the  girl  on  the  back  seat,  and  the  kindly  eyes 
studied  her  sweet  face  with  instant  appreciation.  "We'll 
move  right  on  to  my  camp,  good  people,  if  you  please,  for 
we've  all  been  afield  since  morning,  and  I,  at  least,  am 
hungry." 

It  was  the  girl  who  now,  in  one  quick  glance,  directed 
his  attention  to  the  fourth  member  of  the  party,  the  tall, 


66  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

young  officer  in  saddle.  "And  this?"  continued  the  gen- 
eral, with  interrogative  glance. 

"Lieutenant  Freeman,  sir,"  was  the  answer,  with  a 
stiffening  of  back  and  straightening  up  to  the  salute.  "I 
ventured  to  wait  and  escort  the  colonel  over,  general. 
Perhaps  I'm  a  little  late."  Indeed,  Freeman  did  not 
quite  know  what  might  be  uppermost  in  the  general's 
mind  as  to  the  manifold  misdoings  of  which  he  was 
conscious.  Only  he  did  hate  to  appear  at  disadvantage 

at  such  a  time.  It  was  just  his  "d adjective  luck"  to 

be  in  shabby  regimentals  and  on  a  shabby  mount.  It  was 
more  than  likely  the  general  would  never  know  he  had 
a  better  uniform,  only  that  he'd  spoiled  it  diving  for  his 
ferryman.  Confound  the  luck,  anyhow,  he  was  born 
to  it! 

And  with  Fanny  Morgan  to  hear  him  get  his  probable 
raking-over ! 

But  this  was  the  raking-over  that  presently  came. 
With  friendly  interest  the  general  had  been  studying  the 
clouded  young  face,  and,  disengaging  his  horse  from  the 
wheels,  he  reined  him  over  and  held  forth  a  cordial  hand. 
"I  should  have  known  you  at  once,  my  boy,"  said  he. 
"You  have  your  mother's  eyes,  and  you  come  just  in 
time.  You  haven't  forgotten  your  French,  have  you?" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Miss  Morgan's  fair  face  turned  suddenly  white.  Then 
a  wave  of  color  swept  to  her  temples.  The  aging  gen- 
tlewoman, her  mother,  who  had  beamed  when  the  gen- 
eral spoke  of  Donald,  glanced  over  her  shoulder  quickly, 
almost  furtively.  Between  the  two,  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, there  passed  a  swift  glance  of  apprehension.  Then 
Mrs.  Morgan's  eyes,  noting  that  surprising  access  of 
color,  began  to  dilate.  That  her  daughter  should  lose 
color  at  the  general's  words  was  unavoidable.  That  she 
should  be  blushing  like  the  rose  was  unaccountable,  in- 
deed reprehensible.  There  was  time  for  no  investigation. 
The  general,  with  Freeman  on  his  left,  an  odd  contrast  in 
both  men  and  mounts,  turned  his  horse's  head  to  the  west, 
and  saying,  "Now,  you're  all  coming  over  to  camp,"  led 
the  way  in  his  grave  and  decorous  fashion,  leaving  the 
Morgans  to  follow.  It  was  evident  that  he  desired  to 
speak  one  moment  with  the  young  officer,  for  he  leaned 
over  toward  and  turned  his  massive  head  full  upon  him. 
As  for  Freeman,  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  known 
that  young  officer,  Miss  Morgan  saw  him  obviously  ab- 
sorbed in  some  one  else,  which  was  productive  of  a 
sensation  distinctly  new  and  by  no  means  acceptable.  It 
was  not  a  conversation  they  were  holding.  The  general 
very  urgently  was  speaking,  the  lieutenant  as  earnestly 
was  listening.  Then  they  saw  Freeman's  hand  go  up  to 
the  cap-vizor  in  salute.  Then  the  general  reined  back 


68  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

beside  the  front  wheels  on  the  driver's  side,  and,  pres- 
ently, with  a  very  far-away  look  in  his  eyes,  a  look  in 
which  relief  and  rejoicing  both  were  blended,  Mr.  Free- 
man once  more  took  his  station  near  Miss  Morgan's  seat. 
Between  the  girl  and  her  mother  not  a  word  had  passed, 
though  an  observer  would  have  said  one  thought  was  up- 
permost in  the  minds  of  each.  Now,  father  and  mother 
both,  as  the  horses  plodded  steadily  on  in  the  slow  trot 
set  by  their  leader,  gave  ear  to  what  the  general  was 
saying,  and  the  daughter  turned  on  her  abstracted  es- 
cort. The  tone  was  low,  the  manner  was  that  assured, 
possessive,  not  to  say  positive,  mien  which  youthful  wom- 
anhood so  often  adopts  toward  the  swain  of  whose  devo- 
tion there  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt : 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you — spoke  French?" 

"I  thought  you  knew." 

"Thought  I  knew?  Why,  Mr.  Freeman,  I  never 

Why,  do  you  suppose  I  would  have  said — anything — in 
French  if  I  thought  you  understood  it?" 

"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  have  been  so — impolite  as  to 
talk  in  a  tongue  you  thought  I  couldn't  understand." 
And  now  it  was  plain  that  Mr.  Freeman,  in  his  access 
of  good  spirits,  was  mischievously  enjoying  the  situation. 
This  was  intolerable.  Moreover,  it  was  hazardous.  A 
very  pretty,  yet  invisible,  foot  came  down  on  the  floor  of 
the  trap  with  a  bang. 

"I  think  you  are  very  impertinent !"  said  Miss  Morgan, 
her  red-gold  hair  looking  almost  blond  in  the  light  from 
her  flushing  face.  -How  dare  he  trifle  with  the  moods 
of  a  girl  with  the  temper  and  hair  of  Elizabeth  Tudor  ? 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  69 

"Your — French — was  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  said 
he  suggestively. 

"Where  were  you  taught,  I'd  like  to  know?"  replied 
the  lady. 

"French  or — manners  ?"  This  very  calmly.  Positively 
Mr.  Freeman  must  have  been  promoted  major,  or  other- 
wise exalted  far  beyond  his  deserts,  to  become  of  a  sud- 
den so  independent. 

"French,  of  course.  Manners  are — quite  out  of  the 
question." 

"In  France — principally."  This  both  impassive  and  in- 
different. 

"When  were  you  ever  in  France?" 

"Most  of  my  boyhood  and — some  of  my  youth." 

"And  you  let  me "  she  began  impressively,  then 

broke  off  in  speechless  indignation. 

"Certainly!  Your  French,  at  least,  was  comprehen- 
sible. Your  manner  was  not." 

She  longed  to  be  very  angry.  She  wished  to  sting  him, 
to  make  him  smart  for  his  treachery.  But  there  were 
some  things  she  needed  to  know,  and  quickly,  too.  She 
could  punish  him  later — any  time,  in  fact.  Every  girl, 
once  sure  of  the  man,  knows  how.  But  later  might  be 
too  late  to  learn  what  she  needed  to  learn  at  once. 
Pointed  darts  could  be  held  in  reserve.  It  was  a  pointed 
question  she  needed  to  ask,  and  of  whom  else  dare  she 
ask  it? 

"Why  did  the  general  inquire  about  your  French? 
Doesn't  he  understand  it?  I  thought  all  West  Pointers 
had  to." 


yo  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"They  have  to — study — it,  at  long  range,  a  while.  It's 
another  thing  to  understand  it." 

A  moment's  pause.  She  was  regarding  him  intently 
now.  Then  came : 

"I  didn't  imagine  anybody  would  need  French — here, 
and  if  they  did — there  were  lots  of  officers." 

"Who  are  they,  and  where?"  asked  Freeman  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly.  "The  general  said  he  could  hear  of 
none  who  had  more  than  a  smattering.  Do  you  know 
any  one?" 

And  now  the  big,  blue  eyes  were  full  upon  her,  kindling, 
jealous,  and  again  she  went  crimson  under  the  scrutiny. 
Then  the  woman  in  her  rallied,  and  the  next  question  had 
a  ring  of  defiance. 

"And  if  I  did — isn't  one  enough  for  the  purpose?" 
And,  forgetful  for  the  moment  of  anything  but  the  long- 
ing to  probe  the  mystery,  to  establish  the  identity  of  the 
unknown  rival,  or  rivals,  of  whose  existence  he  felt  mor- 
ally certain,  Freeman  fell  into  the  trap.  Half-designed 
as  it  was,  it  was  more  than  half-successful. 

"One  may  be  enough,  right  here,  but  more  are  needed. 
Whom  could  you  name  ?" 

"I  don't  l.now  any  one  who  would — answer,"  was  the 
almost  cold  reply.  "I  can't  imagine  why — any  one  is 
needed."  But  the  swift-changing  color,  the  sudden  droop 
of  the  eyelids,  and  the  sweep  of  the  long  lashes  over  the 
flushing  cheek  told  Ned  Freeman  another  story,  and  one 
he  little  liked. 

They  had  turned  through  an  opening  in  the  fence,  and 
up  a  gentle  incline  in  a  broad,  open  field,  with  a  Kentucky 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  71 

house  bordering  its  westward  side  some  two  hundred 
yards  away.  They  drove  up  before  a  big  tent,  like  the 
colonel's  marquee  at  the  Illinois  camp,  with  a  broad  fly 
spread  in  front,  and  smaller  tents  scattered  about  in 
flank  and  rear,  with  three  or  four  officers  rising  from 
their  camp-chairs,  and  soldier  clerks  seated  at  desks  or 
tables  within  the  open  tent,  and  half  a  dozen  negro  boys 
running  to  receive  the  horses.  Slowly  the  general  dis- 
mounted and  gave  an  orderly  the  reins.  Quickly  Free- 
man sprang  from  saddle  and  stepped  to  the  carryall's 
side,  aiding  mother  and  daughter  to  alight,  and  be  re- 
ceived with  the  grave  courtesy  for  which  the  tawny- 
bearded  chief  was  already  known.  One  after  another, 
Thomas  presented  his  new  staff-officers  to  the  arriving 
party;  bade  Fulmer,  aide-de-camp,  take  Freeman  to  his 
tent;  then  personally  led  the  way  westward  to  the  side 
gateway  of  the  large,  old-fashioned  country  house  beyond 
the  bordering  hedge. 

"Mrs.  Helm,"  said  he,  "will  be  more  than  pleased  to 
welcome  you,  Mrs.  Morgan.  She  knows  Donald  well." 
And  the  mention  of  that  name  seemed  all-sufficient.  One 
look  only  did  Miss  Morgan  vouchsafe  her  recent  escort 
as  she  was  led  away.  She  had  thought,  possibly,  to  have 
him  longer  where  he  could  be  cross-questioned.  She  had 
hoped,  perhaps,  to  ascertain  something  still  more  definite. 
She  was  fearful,  probably,  that  impulsively  as  he  had 
spoken,  he  might  speak  again — tell  some  one  else  what  he 
told  her — and,  knowing  well  that  she  would  catch  his  eye, 
had  ventured  that  one  quick  and  meaning  glance.  With 
it  she  placed  the  tip  of  her  forefinger  on  her  pretty  lips 


72  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

and  left  him  perplexed — he  who  less  than  half  an  hour 
before  had  been  elated. 

"Which  way  did  you  come?"  Freeman's  new  host  was 
asking,  as  together  the  two  young  officers  walked  away. 
Fulmer  was  looking  not  too  favorably  at  Freeman's 
shabby  attire,  and  wondering  what  meant  this  new,  if  but 
temporary,  addition  to  the  general's  military  family.  "See 
or  hear  of  any  rebs  ?" 

"We  came  over  the  hill  road — Crab  Orchard,"  an- 
swered Freeman  briefly.  "Saw  hardly  anybody  except 
country  folk,  and  heard  nothing — at  least,"  and  now  he 
remembered  one  or  two  low-toned  talks  of  the  Morgans 
with  their  rustic  entertainers  when  they  halted  for  short 
rests,  "I  heard  nothing." 

Lieutenant  Fulmer  looked  about  him.  The  December 
afternoon  was  still  and  sunshiny.  The  air  was  keen, 
frosty,  and  exhilarating ;  the  sky  a  beautiful  blue.  A  line 
of  distant  heights  toward  the  Cumberland  loomed  clear 
and  sharp  across  the  southerly  horizon.  The  smoke  from 
neighboring  camp-fires  and  the  chimneys  of  the  Helm 
house  soared  straight  aloft,  and,  .but  for  the  occasional 
glimpse  of  arms  and  uniform,  and  the  stamp  of  chargers 
along  the  fence  at  the  rear,  all  spoke  of  peace  and  tran- 
quillity. 

"I  was  at  Somerset,"  said  Fulmer,  "when  they  were 
making  up  that  packet  of  letters  to  go  to  you,  and,  of 
course,  know  who  you  are,  so  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
we  were  just  about  mounting  and  going  out  in  search 
of  the  general  when  we  saw  him  coming  with  you. 
There's  news  over  from  the  Cumberland  he  won't  like. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  73 

Schoepf's  falling  back.  Zollicoffer  is  across  with  his 
whole  command.  Somebody  must  have  told  him  how 
scattered  we  were  and  how  few  we  had  to  cover  so 
long  a  line.  Think  of  the  cheek  of  it !" 

"Did  you  see  the  rider  who  was  captured  with  those 
letters?"  asked  Freeman,  on  the  instant.  The  few  words 
spoken  by  the  general  had  invested  that  episode  with  im- 
portance exceeding  the  fact  that  a  Southern  brigade, 
strong  in  numbers  and  purpose,  was  marshaled  in  their 
immediate  front  barely  thirty  miles  away'. 

"I  didn't  see  him.  He  was  nabbed  by  some  of  Sam 
Wetherby's  fellows,  while  I'd  gone  ahead  with  orders 
for  Colonel  Hoskins.  They've  sent  him  back  to  Louis- 
ville for  General  Buell  to  get  a  look  at  him.  He  had 
letters  from  reb  officers  to  people  in  this  neighborhood, 
and  some  of  them  written  in  French  from  an  officer  of  a 
battalion  of  Zouaves  over  in  Columbus,  on  the  Missis- 
sippi. Those  fellows  are  all  from  New  Orleans " 

Freeman,  who  had  whipped  off  coat  and  collar  and 
was  preparing  for  as  deep  a  dip  in  cool  water  as  the  tin 
basin  would  allow,  looked  up  suddenly : 

"Colonel  Rolfe,  our  colonel,  was  speaking  of  them  a 
few  days  ago.  They  are  all  French  by  birth.  But  why 
send  the  letters  way  round  here?  They  could  run  them 
into  our  line  just  as  easy  there." 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  easy ;  but  then  they'd  have  to  traverse 
half  the  State  to  get  here,  with  Union  people  and  soldiers 
all  the  way.  On  the  other  hand,  letters  come  by  Memphis 
and  Nashville,  and  there's  nobody  to  interfere.  You  see, 
the  people  to  be  reached  are  right  around  there  back  of 


74  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Somerset.  It  did  look  queer  that  there  should  be  a  letter 
for  you  in  the  lot." 

"The  man  that  wrote  it  will  look  queerer  by  the  time 
I'm  done  with  him,"  was  the  grim  response,  "if  ever  I 
get  hold  of  him.  Who — who  saw  or  read  the  letters  ?"  he 
asked,  reddening  behind  his  towel. 

"The  general  only.  He  would  let  no  one  else  examine 
it — or  any  of  them,  for  that  matter.  There  were  only 
half  a  dozen  all  told.  Yours  and  Colonel  Morgan's  were 
delivered.  The  others  were  sealed  and  sent  to  General 
Buell." 

Freeman  turned  again  and  looked  toward  the  home- 
stead within  whose  doors  the  Morgans  and  his  general 
had  so  recently  vanished.  Already  the  general  was  re- 
turning, having  left  his  friends  to  the  ministrations  of 
their  hostess.  He  was  walking  slowly,  ponderously, 
through  the  gateway  and  out  into  the  open  field,  his  close- 
cropped,  curly  beard  upon  his  massive  chest,  his  gaze 
upon  the  ground.  One  hand,  the  left,  was  thrown  be- 
hind him,  the  forearm  on  the  waist.  The  other,  holding 
a  crumpled  paper,  was  thrust  into  the  breast  of  the  old 
cavalry  coat.  Slow  as  was  his  pace,  the  "pose"  was  sig- 
nificant, for  Mr.  Fulmer  exclaimed  in  undertone : 

"He's  got  the  news,  anyway.  Now,  let's  see  what'll 
happen!"  The  general  was  moving  straight  for  the 
office-tent,  where  his  adjutant-general  awaited  him.  The 
sun  was  well  down  in  the  western  sky,  and  its  brilliant 
beams  turned  the  hair  and  beard  to  gold  as  Thomas  drew 
off  his  black  felt  hat  and  then,  in  placid  tones,  called  for 
his  field-glass.  A  soldier  from  a  neighboring  tent  came 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  75 

with  it  on  the  run.  His  excitement  was  in  curious  con- 
trast to  the  commander's  calm.  Of  the  three  officers  who 
stood  awaiting  the  general's  possible  instructions,  not 
one  ventured  to  offer  a  remark  or  suggestion.  Slowly 
and  deliberately  the  binocular  was  adjusted.  Already 
other  officers  were  out  with  theirs,  and  leveling  on  that 
low  and  distant  line  of  heights.  Off  there  somewhere,  at 
the  Mill  Springs  crossing,  it  was  said,  an  entire  division 
of  Confederate  soldiery  was  even  now  in  camp.  Their 
cavalry  scouts  had  been  seen  that  very  afternoon  not  a 
dozen  miles  away.  Their  light  guns  had  been  tossing 
shells  at  the  tents  of  General  Schoepf,  farther  up-stream, 
and  Schoepf,  disgusted  that  his  outposts  should  have 
been  caught  napping,  was  calling  right  and  left  for  reen- 
forcements  and  falling  back  on  Somerset. 

And  this  was  the  news  that  had  set  everything  about 
camp  to  buzzing,  everything  and  everybody,  apparently, 
except  the  calm,  methodical  soldier  in  the  dress  of  a 
colonel  of  cavalry.  The  raw  brigades  were  extended 
along  a  line  near  seventy  miles  in  length,  their  outposts 
thrown  well  forward  toward  the  beautiful  Cumberland, 
their  untrained  cavalry  pickets  supposedly  at  the  fords. 
Sidney  Johnston  knew  full  well  his  former  loyal  major's 
dispositions.  The  land  was  full  of  Southern  sympa- 
thizers, eager  to  give  the  gray  leader  every  aid  and  wel- 
come. The  friends  of  the  Union  who  could  or  dare  tell 
what  Johnston  was  doing  were  few  as  the  others  were 
many.  It  had  been  Buell's  plan  and  purpose,  as  speedily 
as  possible,  to  send  forward  his  divisions  across  the  Cum- 
berland and  give  battle  to  the  invader  from  the  South.  It 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


was  hardly  conceivable  that,  with  only  a  single  division, 
a  Southern  leader  should  dare  take  the  initiative  and 
cross  in  face  of  the  rapidly  gathering  army  at  the  north, 
"with  the  foe  in  his  front  and  the  river  behind."  It  is 
the  unexpected  that  happens.  To  the  astonishment  of 
Buell  back  at  Louisville,  to  the  ill-concealed  uneasiness 
of  his  immediate  commanders,  Crittenden  at  Knoxville 
and  Johnston  at  Nashville,  the  Tennessee  editor-general 
had  planted  his  guns  and  battalions  on  the  northern  bank, 
and  was  shaking  a  mailed  fist  in  the  very  faces  of  the  de- 
fenders of  the  "dark  and  bloody  ground";  a  novice  of  a 
volunteer  cavalry  captain  was  going  rearward  in  dis- 
grace; an  Ohio  volunteer  colonel,  brave  and  zealous, 
found  himself  suddenly  thrown  back  by  gray-coated  cav- 
aliers he  had  every  reason  to  believe  a  dozen  miles  away  ; 
a  brigadier,  censured  and  chagrined,  was  trying  to  ex- 
plain matters,  fix  the  responsibility,  fight  back  the  dis- 
turbers, and  form  a  new  line  all  in  the  same  moment; 
and  here  in  the  open  field  —  with  anxious,  distressful  eyes 
peering  at  him  from  the  Helm  house  windows  ;  with  a 
perturbed  and  troubled  staff  moving  nervously,  restlessly 
about,  biting  lips  and  mustaches,  and  muttering  maledic- 
tions on  such  wretched  work  at  the  front,  murmuring 
queries  as  to  what  they'd  be  saying  of  it  and  of  them,  at 
the  rear  —  here  stood  the  soldier  now  charged  with  the 
defense  of  all  that  long  line,  the  man  whom  critics  would 
surely  carp  at  and  superior  headquarters  be  sure  to 
blame,  and  neither  by  word,  look,  nor  sign  had  he  ex- 
pressed either  vexation  or  surprise. 

Could  it  be,  as  some  one  had  already  claimed,  that 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  77 

the  Virginian  rejoiced  at  the  cause  of  Virginia's  gaining 
ground?  Could  it  be,  as  others  had  said,  that  he  was 
so  slow,  stolid,  impassive,  that  it  took  him  hours  to 
wake  up,  days  to  make  up  his  mind,  and  weeks  to  act? 
A  young  staff  captain,  recently  out  from  Louisville,  cog- 
nizant of  the  commander's  hopes  and  plans  and  well 
knowing  with  what  depth  of  chagrin  Buell  would  have 
to  get  the  news  to  Washington,  came  wrathfully  to  Fulmer. 

"Man  alive!"  he  muttered,  glancing  almost  resentfully 
at  the  strong,  calm  poise  of  the  general,  still  thoughtfully 
studying  that  Southern  horizon.  "Isn't  he  going  to  say 
or  do  something?  Why,  with  Bull  Run  and  Ball's  Bluff 
to  wipe  out  in  the  East,  and  everybody  expecting  us  to 
do  it  here  in  the  West,  now,  at  the  very  time  when 
Buell's  counted  on  as  a  Christmas  gift  to  whip  the  rebs 
out  of  Kentucky,  here  they  come  bounding  up  in  our 
faces — and  the  Old  Man  doesn't  seem  to  care  a  damn !" 

"You  let  the  'Old  Man'  alone,"  growled  Fulmer. 
"When  you  know  the  half  of  what  he's  forgotten,  it'll  be 
time  for  you  to  talk.  The  general  wants  you,  Freeman." 
This  with  utter  and  sudden  change  of  manner,  for  the 
general  at  last  had  turned,  signaled,  and  said  three  words. 

With  beating  heart,  the  tall  young  officer  in  the  shabby 
coat  hastened  to  his  commander's  side,  and  when  at  a  few 
paces'  distance,  true  to  the  two  years'  teaching  he  had  had 
at  West  Point,  and  obedient  to  he  knew  not  what  quiet 
force  in  the  steady,  steel-gray  eyes,  halted  short  and  stood 
attention.  Every  eye  in  that  enclosure,  with  others  doubt- 
less peering  through  the  blinds  at  the  neighboring  home- 
stead, seemed  riveted  and  focused  on  the  two. 


78  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"I  need  you  to  begin  work  sooner  than  I  thought.  Are 
you  ready?"  And  the  general  was  calmly,  gravely  look- 
ing him  over. 

Freeman's  heart  was  beating  high.  He  was  struggling 
to  keep  down  the  excitement  that  thrilled  in  every  nerve. 
He  was  expectant  now  of  orders  to  mount  instanter,  and 
ride  straightway  to  the  rebel  lines  and  bid  them  begone 
or  something  equally  perilous.  "Yes,  sir,"  was  all  he 
could  say. 

"Then — put  this  into  French,"  said  Thomas,  "and  when 
it  is  ready  bring  it  to  me.  There's  my  desk." 

Half-dazed  and  without  a  word,  Freeman  took  the 
paper  handed  him,  turned  half-stupidly  away,  and  looked 
dumbly  about  him  until  he  saw  the  general's  open  tent 
with  the  field-desk  on  its  stocky  table.  Thither  he  went, 
and  there  he  seated  himself,  and,  unfolding  the  half-sheet, 
began  half-blindly  to  read,  his  blue  eyes  dilating  at  al- 
most the  first  words  that  caught  them.  Meantime  the 
general,  signaling  to  an  orderly,  handed  him  the  glass 
and  was  turning  slowly  away,  when  there  arose  a  clatter 
of  hoofs  and  scabbards  in  the  roadway,  a  little  squad  of 
horsemen  trotted  swiftly  into  view  from  behind  the  fringe 
of  shrubbery,  and  the  two  foremost  came  cantering 
through  the  opening  in  the  fence  and  up  the  gentle  slope ; 
a  colonel  in  new,  yet  dusty,  uniform;  an  adjutant,  still 
more  travel-stained;  followed  presently  by  a  single 
trooper,  who  sprang  from  saddle  as  his  officers  dis- 
mounted, and  then  possessed  himself  of  the  abandoned 
reins. 

The  fine  features  of  the  colonel  were  clouded  with 


The   Rock  of  Chickamauga.  79 

anxiety  and  distress.  He  came  forward  squarely  and 
manfully,  with  the  look  of  a  leader  who  had  disappointed 
his  superior,  yet  knew  himself  to  be  blameless.  Straight 
he  looked  his  general  in  the  eye. 

"It  is  sorry  news  I  had  to  send  you,  sir,  but  there  can 
be  no  doubt  of  it.  Zollicoffer's  whole  command  is  across, 
in  spite  of  us.  But,  General  Thomas,  I  was  assured  by 
General  Schoepf  that  our  cavalry  lined  the  bank  and  held 
the  fords  in  my  front.  We  were  bowled  over  by  a  charge 
before  ever  a  man  had  time  to  load.  Disaster  was  the 
last  thing  we  looked  for." 

"There  has  been  none,"  said  Thomas  placidly. 

"I'm  thinking  of  the  effect  it  will  have  in  the  State, 
and  in  the  North,"  said  the  colonel.  Even  in  the  chill 
of  the  coming  night  the  moisture  was  beading  on  his 
forehead. 

"So  am  I,"  said  Thomas  placidly  as  before,  "when  we 
get  through  with  it.  Colonel  Connell,  it  isn't  so  much 
the  way  a  battle  begins  as  the  way  it  ends  that  counts." 

Slowly  the  worry  in  the  colonel's  face  was  giving  way 
to  wonderment  and  then  to  relief.  The  dawn  of  a  new 
understanding  was  breaking  before  his  eyes;  still,  there 
was  something  more  he  had  to  report : 

"General  Schoepf  begged  me  to  say  that  just  as  quick 
as  he  can  get  his  people  together,  and  Rolfe  up  from 
Crab  Orchard,  he'd  be  ready  to  attack." 

"The  general  need  not  worry,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 
"I'm  sending  word  to  him  to  hold  his  horses  till  we're 
ready." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"Till  we're  quite  ready!"  Time  and  again  during  the 
days  that  followed  Ned  Freeman  found  himself  ponder- 
ing over  those  words.  There  came  a  week  fraught  with 
consequence  to  him,  and,  as  it  proved,  to  his  entire  future. 
It  was  a  week  full  of  vivid  import  and  interest  to  all 
about  the  general's  field-headquarters. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  every  officer  and  man 
about  camp  seemed  up  and  alert.  Something  stirring  was 
in  the  wind.  The  general  had  spent  an  hour  in  the  eve- 
ning in  conference  with  the  gray-haired  Virginian,  to 
whom  long  service  on  the  staff  of  successive  governors, 
and  the  expansive  custom  of  the  Southland,  had  given 
the  title  of  colonel.  Dignified,  yet  courteous  and  gentle 
in  manner,  one  of  the  old  school  of  gentlemen,  now,  alas ! 
well-nigh  extinct,  the  elder  Morgan  clung  to  his  preroga- 
tive with  admirable  tenacity.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that 
General  Thomas  himself  had  never  failed  to  speak  to  or 
of  him  as  colonel,  there  was  not  lacking  officers  of  rank 
among  the  callers  at  headquarters  who  palpably  balked 
at  the  title,  intimating  in  their  avoidance  thereof  that  the 
time  had  come  when  only  those  who  were  in  the  national 
service  were  warranted  in  laying  claim  to  military  dis- 
tinction. "Mr.  Morgan,"  as  a  few  referred  to  him  among 
themselves,  was  of  far  finer  breeding  than  most  of  their 
number,  and  among  certain  irreverent  juniors  there  was 
a  tendency  toward  ridicule  of  what  they  termed  his  "airs 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  8 1 

and  graces."  But  such  demonstrations  came  to  abrupt 
end  the  moment  the  general  was  seen  approaching,  and 
only  once  did  one  of  their  number  find  himself  caught  in 
the  act. 

It  happened  the  second  evening  after  the  coming  of  the 
Morgans,  and  a  light-hearted  slip  of  a  lieutenant,  join- 
ing the  circle  at  a  regimental  camp-fire  and  never  noting 
the  presence  of  a  distinguished  visitor,  drew  himself  up 
with  impressive  dignity  at  the  invitation,  "Take  a  seat, 
Mr.  Bayless,"  loftily  raised  his  cap,  and,  in  excellent 
imitation  of  the  elderly  Virginian,  replied,  "Colonel  Bay- 
less,  if  you  will  pahdon  me,  suh,"  and  then  was  aghast 
when  a  moment  of  dead  silence  rewarded  his  pleasantry. 
He  could  have  sunk  into  the  ground  when  he  heard  the 
quiet,  even  tones  of  the  general,  as  without  the  faintest 
show  of  annoyance  or  rebuke,  with  even  a  pleasant  smile, 
Thomas  spoke : 

"My  old  friend  is  of  unusual  type,  and  I  don't  wonder 
Western-bred  men  find  him  hard  to  understand.  He  has 
the  manners  of  the  colonial  period,  and  to  him  a  Vir- 
ginia colonelcy  means  quite  as  much  as  it  once  did  to 
George  Washington.  I  haven't  a  doubt  that  if  he  had  re- 
mained in  Virginia  he  would  be  colonel  there,  or  some- 
thing more,  to-day,  but,"  and  now  the  tone  saddened  per- 
ceptibly, "but — I  fear — on  the  other  side." 

And  now  young  Bayless,  as  he  later  said,  could  have 
knelt  and  kissed  the  general's  hand. 

"I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  general,"  he  stammered.  "I 
hadn't  an  idea  you  were  here,  and  I  shouldn't  have  done 
it  anyhow ;  only,  as  you  say,  sir,  we  ain't  used  to  such  fine 


82  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

manners.  My  dad,  though,  would  up  and  baste  me  with 
a  flail  if  he'd  heard  me." 

"Let  me  tell  you  a  bit  about  Morgan,"  said  Thomas,  in 
his  kindly,  fatherly  way.  He  had  ever  a  helping  hand 
and  a  soft  heart  for  the  young  officer.  "Our  fathers  were 
friends  and  neighbors,  our  forefathers  were  Welsh,  and 
his  mother  was  of  the  old  Scotch  loyalist  stock,  the  clans 
that  clung  to  the  Stuarts  to  the  last.  He  really  belongs 
to  a  past  day  and  generation.  His  father  was  an  offi- 
cer in  the  Welsh  Fusiliers — the  236.  Regiment  of  the 
British  army — before  he  resigned  to  move  to  Virginia; 
and  so  the  son,  the  colonel,  is  a  born  soldier.  Three  gov- 
ernors have  named  him  aide-de-camp,  and  what  do  you 
suppose  ended  it?  The  hanging  of  John  Brown.  Mor- 
gan differed  with  his  governor  over  an  order  he  had  re- 
ceived. He  obeyed  it ;  then  resigned.  Life  lost  its  charm 
for  him  after  that.  They  almost  ostracized  him,  I  fancy. 
He  sold  his  property  at  a  sacrifice ;  moved  over  here  last 
summer,  and  here  he  is  with  his  wife  and  daughter  and 
two  or  three  of  the  old  household  servants,  but — without 
his  son." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  There  were  probably 
twenty  present.  It  was  an  Ohio  regiment,  and  it  was 
the  colonel's  custom  to  welcome  his  officers  for  an  hour 
every  evening,  and,  as  was  the  general's  kindly  way,  with 
only  Lieutenant  Fulmer  in  attendance,  he  had  dropped  in 
upon  the  circle  for  a  social  call.  The  simple  recital  had 
placed  the  exiled  Virginian  in  a  new,  a  sympathetic,  light. 
A  question  trembled  on  the  lips  of  more  than  one  man 
who  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  little  household  at 


The  Rock  of  Chlckamauga*  83 

the  Helms'.  It  was  the  colonel  who  finally  gave  it 
voice : 

"General,  where  is  Donald,  of  whom  they  talk  so 
much?" 

"Where  would  he  be,  if  he  had  his  way?  Educated  at 
the  Virginia  Military  Institute,  and  a  sophomore  at  Char- 
lottesville,  the  Virginia  university,  when  they  moved,  his 
father  tried  to  bind  him  by  his  word  of  honor  not  to  fight 
against  the  old  flag.  He  would  only  give  it  until  he  be- 
came of  age." 

Another  silence;  then  Connell  asked  again: 

"Isn't  he  pretty  near  twenty-one  now  ?" 

There  was  a  distinct  pause  before  the  answer  came : 

"He  was  twenty-one  the  night  Zollicoffer  crossed  the 
Cumberland." 

Two  hours  later  when  Fulmer  was  telling  this  story  to 
his  temporary  tentmate,  he  was  surprised  to  see  Mr.  Free- 
man look  up  in  quick  amaze,  but  still  more  surprised  to 
see  that  Mr.  Freeman  was  obviously  startled,  even  discon- 
certed, by  the  statement.  A  moment  more,  and  with 
abrupt  "Excuse  me,  will  you — I've — I've  got  to  see  the 
general,"  Freeman  bolted  out  into  the  starry  night. 

"Harder  hit  than  even  I  thought,"  said  Fulmer  to  him- 
self. "That  girl's  got  him  bewitched— small  blame  to 
him.  But  why  the  devil  should  he  bolt  when  told  brother 
Don  had  turned  reb  ?  What  else  was  to  be  expected  ?" 

What  else,  indeed?  A  long  hour  of  love-making  had 
Ned  Freeman  enjoyed,  or  suffered,  that  eventful  evening, 
after  other  callers  had  departed  and  while  the  elders  were 
in  close  converse  about  the  bright  wood  fire  in  Mrs. 


84  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Helm's  cozy,  old-fashioned  parlor.  The  general  had 
joined  them,  and  gravely,  gently  talked  with  the  three. 
It  was  evident  to  Freeman  that  something  had  happened 
to  arouse  both  anxiety  and  grief,  for  Mrs.  Morgan  could 
with  difficulty  restrain  her  tears,  and  the  colonel's  fine 
old  face  was  full  of  trouble.  And  this  night,  too,  Fanny 
Morgan's  beautiful  eyes  were  forever  wandering.  She 
was  nervous,  fitful,  one  moment  almost  appealing,  the 
next  unmindful  of  his  presence.  He  had  had  a  definite 
purpose  in  calling.  He  had  heard  that  they  were  to  re- 
turn to  The  Oaks  the  following  day,  He  had  thought 
of  begging  the  general's  permission  to  ride  back  with 
them,  so  as  to  confer  with  Colonel  Rolfe  upon  his  pos- 
sible detail  for  more  staff  duty.  The  regiment  had  struck 
camp  for  higher  ground,  but  was  even  nearer  the  Clai- 
tjorne  farm,  ancj  no  farther  from  the  homestead  that  had 
been  t}ie  center  of  his  longings.  Freeman  wished  to  be 
their  escort,  yet  there  would  be  no  opportunity  for  heart- 
to-heart  talk  with  this  strange,  elusive,  fascinating  girl. 
She  had  had  so  much  to  say  at  first  of  brother  Don; 
now,  she  shrank  from  mention  of  him.  She  had  never 
spoken  of  a  certain  Jack  Barbour,  a  Varsity  chum  of 
Donald's,  yet  a  Kentuckian.  The  young  men  had  first 
met  when  wearing  the  cadet  gray  at  Lexington,  and 
rumor  told  the  rest.  Three  or  four  fellows  of  the 
Fourth  Kentucky,  Speed  Fry's  regiment,  as  well  as  Cap- 
tain Sam  Wetherby,  of  the  cavalry,  had  lost  no  time  in 
coming  to  call  on  pretty  Fanny  Morgan  at  the  Helms', 
and  not  a  little  had  they  had  to  say  around  headquarters 
camp  about  this  same  Jack  Barbour  and  his  utter  infatua- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  85 

tion  for  his  college  chum's  fair  sister.  This  was  news 
that  stirred  Ned  Freeman  to  the  core  and  disturbed  him 
beyond  words.  This  night  he  had  determined  she  should 
speak  of  Jack  Barbour,  that  he  should  know  whether  the 
Kentuckian  had  won  her  heart;  and,  to  his  infinite  per- 
plexity, when  it  should  have  been  to  his  utter  gratifica- 
tion, she  had  suddenly  checked  him  with,  "Don't  speak  to 
rrie  of  Mr.  Jack  Barbour!  I  hope  I  may  never  set  eyes 
on  him  again !" 

Now,  what  more  should  an  ardent  lover  need  in  the 
way  of  reassurance  than  so  flat-footed  a  statement? — a 
stamp  such  as  that  he  heard  oh  the  floor  of  the  carryall 
went  with  the  statement — yet  it  did  not  reassitre  him  at 
all.  The  very  manner  suggested  there  had  been  a  lovers' 
quarrel.  He  had  tried  to  induce  her  to  tell  more  of  Bar- 
bour, but  to  no  purpose;  and  when  the  general  rose  to 
say  good  night  he  signaled  Freeman  to  follow. 

A  negro  servant  had  come  riding  over  to  the  Helms' 
during  the  late  afternoon,  with  a  letter  from  The  Oaks 
for  Colonel  Morgan.  Probably  it  brought  addition  to 
the  disquieting  news,  for  the  Virginian's  face,  sad  and 
care-worn  as  it  ever  seemed  to  Freeman,  looked  doubly 
sad  to-night.  Hardly  were  the  two  out  of  ear-shot  of  the 
house  when  the  general  stopped  and  faced  his  junior. 

"Mr.  Freeman,"  said  he,  "was  Major  Cutler  a  guest,  a 
visitor,  at  Colonel  Rolfe's  before  you  left?" 

"Yes,  sir.    For  two  days,  I  think." 

The  general's  head  was  bowed  in  thought.  Under  the 
starlit  heaven  he  presently  bared  it  and  stood,  hat  in 
hand,  pondering  deeply.  A  paper  fell  from  the  inner 


86  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

hat-band  and  fluttered  noiseless  to  the  frozen  ground. 
Freeman,  absorbed  in  his  commander,  never  noticed  it. 
His  eyes  were  on  the  general's  face  as  the  latter 
looked  up. 

"I  have  never  met  your  colonel  since  his  cadet  days," 
said  he.  "He  was  among  my  pupils  in  tactics  and  riding, 
and  I  thought  highly  of  him.  Then  he  went  to  my  old 
regiment  in  the  artillery,  and  I  hoped — I  thought — it 
might  be  agreeable  to  him  to  be  assigned  here  to  my 
command,"  and  now  the  general  looked  almost  wist- 
fully into  the  young  officer's  face. 

"I'm  sure  of  it,  sir,"  said  Freeman  impulsively. 

"I  should  like  to  be  sure  of  it,"  said  Thomas  reflect- 
ively. "But  'many  men,  many  minds.'  I  may  have  left 
an  enemy  or  two  in  the  artillery." 

"You  didn't  at  the  Point,  sir!  The  older  cadets  were 
still  talking  of  you  when  we  entered." 

"Let  me  ask  you,  Freeman.  Did  Colonel  Rolfe  seem 
annoyed  at  my  having  called  for  your  services  here?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  general.  I  think  he  wished  the  whole 
regiment  were  coming  at  the  same  time." 

"Well,  say  no  more  of  it.  I  shall  write  and  tell  him 
why  I  need  you  here  just  now,  and  I  may  need  you  very 
much.  Something  has  occurred  to  perplex  me  a  little — 
but  of  this  I'll  tell  you  later." 

That  was  at  half-past  nine,  and  now,  barely  twenty 
minutes  later,  Ned  Freeman  was  again  at  his  general's 
side.  He  had  come,  troubled  and  embarrassed,  to  ask 
that  he  might  go  at  once — to-morrow — that  he  might  ride 
over  with  the  Morgans.  There— there  was  something  he 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  87 

needed  very  much  to  know,  whereat  the  silver-blue  eyes 
softened  and  the  rare  smile  stole  to  the  bearded  lips,  as 
the  general  gave  his  consent.  That  was  just  before  ten, 
and  now,  though  soldier  bedtime  was  at  hand,  Ned  Free- 
man went  out  into  the  night.  He  had  need  to  think,  and 
to  think  carefully. 

Loverlike,  he  found  himself  presently  drifting  over  to- 
ward the  Helms'.  The  quaint  old  country  home  stood 
in  summer-time  bowered  among  shade  trees,  but  now  their 
branches  were  bare,  and  the  candle-light  was  faintly 
gleaming  in  two  windows,  one  on  the  first  floor  next  the 
front,  the  other  in  the  second  floor  beneath  the  eaves,  and 
almost  directly  above  the  first.  Some  of  the  household, 
then,  were  still  in  the  sitting-room.  One  had  gone  to 
her  room,  and  more  than  once  before  this  sparkling,  star- 
lit night  had  Mr.  Freeman  rhapsodied  beneath  that 
window. 

It  was  very  still.  The  low  murmur  of  voices  about 
headquarters  had  died  away,  but  a  shadowy  form  or  two 
could  still  be  seen  flitting  about  the  lighted  candles. 
Against  the  eastward  sky  the  black  form  of  the  sentry, 
muffled  in  overcoat  and  cape,  was  outlined  on  the  little 
hill,  "slowly  pacing  his  beat  in  front  of  the  general's  tent ; 
but  his  footfalls  were  at  the  distance  inaudible.  A  guard- 
fire,  burning  low,  threw  a  flickering  gleam  upon  the 
single  wall-tent  at  the  entrance  from  the  highway,  where 
the  sentry's  comrades  dozed  or  murmured  the  hours 
away.  Over  at  Wetherby's  camp,  beyond  the  bend,  the 
wearied  troopers,  after  a  long  day's  scout  toward  the 
Cumberland,  had  sought  their  blankets;  even  the  trurn- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


peter  turning  in  without  first  sounding  the  unnecessary 
signal  to  extinguish  lights.  Still  farther  away  by  the 
side  of  the  Somerset  Road  the  camp  of  the  Ohio  volun- 
teers lay  hidden  by  a  low,  intervening  ridge,  and  the 
only  sound  to  break  the  silence  of  the  night  was  the  occa- 
sional bay  of  distant  watch-dogs,  at  the  far-away  farms 
and  homesteads  toward  the  south.  Yet  there  was  sig- 
nificance even  in  that. 

With  hands  clasped  behind  him  and  with  lowered  head, 
Freeman  had  slowly,  noiselessly  approached  the  little  gate 
through  which  he  had  followed  his  general  some  twenty 
minutes  earlier.  It  stood  in  thick  darkness,  but  he  knew 
the  way,  and  went  quietly  through ;  passed  around  to  the 
front  of  the  house  and  stood  there  a  moment,  thinking 
painfully,  among  the  leafless  shrubbery. 

Aloft  the  light  in  the  corner  chamber-window  shone 
much  brighter  than  it  did  at  the  side.  The  candle,  or  a 
pair  of  them,  perhaps,  must  be  standing  quite  close  to  the 
white  shade.  Freeman  heard  footsteps  in  the  hallway  and 
the  shooting  of  bolts  at  the  door.  Evidently  the  house- 
hold was  locking  up  for  the  night.  Presently  the  lights 
oh  the  lower  floor  were  moved  away — carried  into  the 
hallway  and  up  the  stairs — and  all  below  was  darkness. 
Odd,  that  when  everything  was  so  quiet  hereabouts  there 
should  be  such  clamor  among  the  farm  dogs  far  to  the 
south.  The  roads  and  bridle-paths  were  well  picketed; 
there  was  little  likelihood  of  a  night  attack  from  the 
Cumberland.  Still,  such  things  had  happened.  Every- 
thing in  that  direction,  save  the  spangled  sky,  was  utter 
darkness.  Everything  about  him  now,  save  that  one 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  89 


brightly  lighted  window — her  window — was  wrapped  in 
gloom.  He  moved  softly  over  to  the  fence  along  the 
highway,  found  the  gate,  and  passed  noiselessly  into  th£ 
road ;  then  paused  irresolute.  He  was  tired  and  worried, 
yet  wakeful  with  his  thoughts  of  her.  Not  that  she  was 
in  danger,  only  indifferent;  unless  it  be  that  she  was 
trifling  utterly  with  him,  and  troubled  about  that  devoted 
young  Kentuckian,  now,  doubtless,  somewhere  with  Don- 
ald over  yonder  within  the  Confederate  lines. 

He  paced  a  few  rods  up  the  road  toward  the  little  vil- 
lage, sleeping  peacefully  and  surrounded  by  watchful 
guards.  He  turned  again,  and  once  more  approached  the 
homestead.  How  brilliant  that  one  window  looked  in 
contrast  with  the  surrounding  gloom!  How  odd  that 
it  should  be  the  only  one !  How  curious,  how  constant, 
was  that  distant  dog-chorils  toward  the  Cumberland ! 

And  then,  just  as  he  regained  the  front  of  the  house 
and  stood  at  the  shorn  arid  wintry  hedge-row,  afar  across 
the  low  ground  to  the  south,  where  all  had  been  dark- 
ness since  his  coming,  even  while  he  stood  gazing  In  that 
direction  and  listening  with  all  his  ears,  there  popped 
suddenly  into  view  a  single  light,  as  of  a  lantern,  over  in 
the  midst  of  what  he  knew  to  be  a  patch  of  woods  some 
five  hundred  yards  to  the  south  of  the  highway,  and 
directly  opposite  the  homestead  of  the  Helms'. 

A  year  earlier,  while  in  New  York,  he  had  been  to  see 
Boucicault's  charming  play,  "The  Colleen  Bawn."  He 
remembered  vividly  the  lovely  scenery  of  the  first  act; 
the  moonlit  lake,  surrounded  by  wooded  heights ;  the  gar- 
den of  the  proud  homestead,  with  the  corner  of  the  build- 


90  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

ing,  the  porch,  and  the  dimly  glowing  windows  of  an  up- 
per chamber  in  the  foreground;  the  dark  figures  in  the 
shadows ;  the  whispered  tale  to  sorrowing  mother  of  her 
son's  love  for  the  low-born  girl  in  the  cottage  beyond 
the  water ;  the  coming  of  the  candle-light  afar  across  the 
silent  deep;  the  murmured  story  of  the  signal,  "Watch 
now.  'Twill  disappear  three  times.  That  means,  'Are 
you  coming  ?'  "  the  sudden  extinguishing  of  the  light  in 
Hardress  Cregan's  windows ;  that  means,  "I  am." 

And  Ned  Freeman,  with  beating  heart  and  trembling 
limbs,  stood  gazing  first  at  the  glowing  window  above 
the  latticed  porch ;  then  at  the  spot  where,  but  the  moment 
before,  had  flashed  the  fair,  white  light,  now  utterly  van- 
ished. And  as  he  gazed,  once  again,  suddenly  as  before, 
it  burst  upon  the  view,  blazed  steadily  perhaps  five  sec- 
onds, went  suddenly  out,  once  more  reappeared;  and  so 
it  broke  and  blazed  and  vanished  three  separate  times, 
and  then,  as  it  were,  paused  for  a  reply. 

With  dread  in  his  eyes  and  rage  in  his  heart,  Freeman 
turned  and  looked  once  more  aloft.  The  chamber-light 
burned  steadily  still,  four,  five  seconds.  Then,  in  a  single 
breath,  all  was  darkness. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

When  the  Morgan  carryall  drove  homeward  across  the 
hills  next  day,  Lieutenant  Freeman,  as  had  been  arranged, 
rode  away  in  attendance,  but,  as  Frances  Morgan  read  at 
a  glance,  it  was  a  different  man  in  a  widely  different 
mood.  In  sadness,  almost  in  silence,  the  elders  sat  side 
by  side  in  front.  In  silence  and  in  deep  resentment,  Ned 
Freeman  sat  in  saddle,  declining  almost  curtly  the 
colonel's  invitation  to  ride  a  while  in  the  carriage  and  let 
his  charger  follow.  Every  mile  or  so  they  met  patrols  or 
pickets  until  well  away  from  the  Somerset  Road  and 
headed  for  the  west  fork.  Twice  or  thrice  they  stopped 
to  exchange  greetings  with  officers  in  blue,  who  looked 
wistfully  at  the  vacant  seat  beside  Miss  Morgan.  They 
stopped  for  rest  and  to  water  the  horses  at  the  Todd 
farm,  ten  miles  on  their  way,  and  for  dinner  and  nooning 
at  the  Hardin  place,  well  up  the  dividing  ridge.  Here 
the  Morgans  spent  two  hours,  the  elders  in  deep  and 
earnest  conference  in  a  room  aloft,  and  Fanny  in  a  veri- 
table pet,  and  the  sitting-room,  below.  Here  Mr.  Free- 
man should  have  joined  her,  all  contrition  and  eagerness 
to  explain  his  unaccountable  misbehavior;  but  here  he 
came  not.  Dinner  over,  he  had  gone  forth  to  the  barn 
to  look  after  the  horses,  as  he  said,  and  when  at  two 
o'clock  the  carryall  was  tooled  round  to  the  front  by  a 
jubilant  young  darky,  he  brought  the  surprising  message 
that  Marss  Freeman  left  his  compliments  and  he  was 


92  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

riding  on  ahead,  as  they  were  now  beyond  any  danger. 
Freeman  had  even  declined  Colonel  Morgan's  pressing 
invitation  to  stop  and  take  supper  with  them  at  The  Oaks. 
Freeman  said  Colonel  Rolfe  would  be  waiting  probably 
for  the  news  he  might  bring,  and  Colonel  Rolfe  was 
not  waiting  at  all.  Colonel  Rolfe  met  the  carryall  three 
miles  o'ut  from  camp  and  two  miles  from  The  Oaks,  and 
turned  back  with  it  and  talked  cheerily  all  the  way.  It 
Was  not  fatigue  alone  that  sent  Fanny  Morgan  early  to 
her  room  that  night.  She  was  indignant,  she  was  an- 
gered, she  was  even  hurt;  but,  most  of  all,  she  was 
sorely  troubled,  for  in  Freeman's  changed  tone  and  man- 
ner she  read  that  he  might  have  discovered  something 
she  had  hoped  to  keep  utterly  to  herself.  She  wondered 
just  how  much  he  knew.  She  grieved  and  fretted  in- 
expressibly that  he  should  have  discovered — anything. 
She  would  have  been  startled,  indeed,  could  she  have 
known  how  much. 

For  a  few  moments,  after  witnessing  the  exchange  of 
signals,  Freeman  had  waited,  irresolute,  considering  what 
he  Ought  to  do.  As  a  gentleman  he  ought  to  go.  As  ah 
officer,  however,  he  had  a  duty.  It  was  time  of  war.  It 
was  a  suspected  family.  The  son  was  probably  in  the 
Confederate  service,  and  the  son's  most  intimate  friend 
and  chuni  could  hardly  be  otherwise.  No  one  who  had 
spoken  of  Mr.  Jack  Barbour  had  named  his  rank  or  regi- 
ment in  the  Southern  army,  but  no  one  doubted  for  a 
moment  that.  Southern  as  he  was  by  birth,  by  breeding, 
and  by  education,  in  the  Southern  army  he  undoubtedly 
iriust  be.  Few  of  his  clan  had  held  to  the  cause  of  the 


.     The  Rock  of  Chick^mauga.  93 

Union.  Most  of  them  were  with  their  kinsman,  George 
Crittenden,  major-general  in  the  Confederate  Army,  with 
headquarters  over  at  Knoxville,  and  with  his  men-at- 
arms  everywhere  along  the  Cumberland  front,  mountain, 
ford,  or  river.  More  than  once  Freeman  had  heard  Jack 
Barbour's  name  in  the  conversation  between  General 
Thomas  and  the  elder  Morgans.  Now,  could  it  be  that 
Frances  Morgan  was  looking  for  a  messenger  from  lover 
or  brother  beyond  the  lines — and  that  the  messenger  was 
at  hand? 

The  war  was  young,  and  so  was  Freeman.  The  bitter 
earnestness  of  the  struggle  had  not  yet  impressed  him. 
He  was  of  the  old  cavalier  stock.  Soldier  of  the  Union 
though  he  was,  he  could  not  spy  upon  the  girl  he  loved. 
Sharply  he  turned  and  went  whistling  through  the  side 
gateway  back  to  camp,  and  there,  in  front  of  the  tent,  in 
the  dim  firelight,  the  sentry  paced  as  before ;  there  in  the 
general's  tent  the  light  still  burned.  Two  shadows  were 
thrown  upon  the  canvas,  and  the  general  was  speaking. 
"I  certainly  had  it  in  my  hat-band  when  we  came  away, 
and  now  it's  gone." 

"Did  you  happen  to  remove  your  hat  before  you  got 
back?"  That  was  Fulmer's  voice,  and  Freeman,  knowing 
just  when  and  where  the  general  had  halted  and  asked 
him  those  questions  as  to  Rolfe,  stepped  forward  to  the 
lighted  entrance. 

"What  is  lost,  general?" 

"A  paper  I  had  in  my  hat — just  some  memoranda. 
'You  remember  where  we  stopped,  Freeman.  Will  you 
step  back  there  and  see  what  you  can  find  ?" 


94  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

And  so  orders,  not  inclination,  took  him  thither  again. 
He  searched  two  or  three  minutes,  lighting  first  one,  then 
another  match  to  aid  him,  and  presently  saw  exactly  what 
he  sought,  a  crumpled  paper  close  to  that  side  gateway — 
close  to  the  leafless  hedge.  The  last  match  burned  out 
as  he  stepped  thither  to  recover  the  prize,  stooped,  and 
felt  for  it  with  his  hand.  It  was  an  elusive  object,  or  else 
some  grinding  heel  had  driven  it  into  the  soil,  for  the 
finger-tips  swept  past  it,  or  over  it,  more  than  once  before 
they  fastened  upon  it,  and  then,  even  as  he  still  knelt, 
facing  the  homestead,  there  fell  upon  his  ears  the  sound 
of  murmuring  voices,  a  sob,  a  man's  deep  tones,  sup- 
pressed, yet  eager  and  pleading ;  answered  only,  so  far  as 
Freeman  could  judge,  by  tears. 

The  voice  of  this  night  suitor,  with  its  caressing 
Southern  intonation,  appealed  to  him  strangely,  in  spite 
of  jealousy  and  wrath.  Surely  it  must  appeal  to  her. 
No  word  had  he  distinguished,  nor  would  he  try.  Si- 
lently, stealthily,  he  crept  away  until  beyond  ear-shot,  then, 
with  tingling  nerves,  hied  himself  swiftly  to  his  general 
and  from  him  back  to  his  own  bitter  thoughts.  He  had 
brought  relief  to  his  commander  and  found  only  added 
worry  for  himself. 

Once  more  before  the  start  Freeman  had  wandered 
down  toward  the  gate.  The  general  had  referred  to  the 
fact  that  had  already  been  noted  by  his  young  assistant 
during  his  search  for  the  paper — something  heavy  had 
trodden  it  into  the  ground,  for  it  was  crushed  and  stained. 
The  ground  was  too  hard  for  the  impress  of  human  foot, 
})ut,  close  to  the  hedgerow  on  the  turf,  Freeman  noted 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  95 

the  print  of  hoofs.  A  panel  of  fence  nearest  the  hedge 
was  missing.  A  horse  had  recently  been  led  or  ridden 
close  along  the  row  to  another  gateway,  leading  to  the 
barn  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  now,  within  ten  feet 
of  that  side  gateway,  lay  a  horse's  shoe.  Mechanically 
Freeman  picked  it  up,  carried  it  a  short  distance,  then 
tossed  it  aside.  He  had  no  faith  in  omens.  For  hours 
after  he  hardly  thought  of  it  again. 

Leaving  the  Morgans  at  the  Hardin  place  and  delib- 
erately avoiding  the  Morgan  homestead  as  he  neared  the 
fork,  Freeman  rode  moodily  down  into  the  valley,  by 
the  winding  bridle-path,  to  the  Claiborne  farm.  He 
wished  to  inquire  for  the  ferryman  whom  he  had  pulled 
from  the  wrathful  waters,  and  for  that  plucky  and  de- 
voted girl,  his  daughter.  The  afternoon  sunshine  was 
still  warm  as  his  tired  horse  threaded  a  way  to  the 
stream  bank,  but  the  ice  spread  in  thin  sheets  at  the  edge 
of  the  shaded  pool.  There  lay  the  skiff  moored  at  the 
little  landing  a  hundred  yards  below  him.  There  beyond 
the  near-by  field  stood  Claiborne's  modest  home  and 
scattered  outbuildings.  Some  one  was  busy  about  the 
house,  for  Freeman  could  see  the  smoke  rising  straight 
from  the  kitchen  chimney,  and  could  hear  the  snort  and 
pawing  of  a  horse  tied  to  the  rail  in  front  of  the  low 
porch.  He  had  noted  here  and  there,  as  he  wound  down 
the  bridle-path,  fresh  footprints  where  the  sun  had  reached 
and  partially  thawed  the  frosty  ground.  Some  cavalier, 
then,  had  preceded  him,  and  perhaps  was  paying  court 
to  Claiborne's  daughter.  He  had  noted  that  she  was 
a  very  pretty  girl,  though,  in  her  bedraggled  condition 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


the  night  of  the  flood,  that  fact  might  have  escaped  him. 
Moreover,  he  was  in  that  brief  stage  of  a  lover's  in- 
fatuation when  he  had  eyes  for  but  one  girl's  face  an4 
fascinations.  Now,  if  the  cavalier  had  come  and  tied 
his  horse  at  his  inamorata's  doorway,  who  then  could  be 
this,  kneeling  among  the  leafless  bushes  at  the  snake- 
fence,  peering  stealthily  through,  and  so  absorbed  in  his 
scrutiny  that  he  had  neither  ear  nor  eye  for  the  coming 
horseman  —  neither  ear  nor  eye  until  the  latter  was  nearly 
upon  him  and  about  to  hail,  for  then  the  watcher  sprang 
to  his  feet  in  sudden  confusion,  faced  the  travel-stained 
young  soldier,  and  raised  a  practised  hand  in  salute.  It 
was  the  man  O'Reilly. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  there,  O'Reilly?"  de- 
manded Freeman,  in  quick  and  keen  disapprobation. 
"Who  are  you  spying  on  ?" 

"I  beg  the  leftennent's  pardon  !  It's  not  spying  I  am, 
but  there's  places  as  has  to  be  watched,  as  the  colonel 
will  say,  sir,  and  more  than  one  of  them  hereabouts." 

"Well,  you're  not  detailed  on  scout  duty  that  I  know 
of,  and  I  haven't  yet  quit  the  company.  No  more  of  this 
sort  of  thing  until  you  get  orders,  O'Reilly." 

"The  leftennent  doesn't  know  the  orders  I'm  gettin' 
while  he  was  away,"  answered  O'Reilly  respectfully 
enough,  "nor  a  hoith  of  what's  been  goin'  on." 

"That  will  do/'  sai4  Freeman,  for  the  Irishman's  eye 
was  growing  ugly  and  the  tone  sullen.  "I'll  hear  it  from 
the  colonel  later." 

With  that  he  rode  angering  on  to  the  gateway  and 
thence  to  the  house,  where  the  tethered  animal  set  up  a 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  97 

whinny  of  welcome  and  Freeman's  mount  responded.  A 
pretty  face  appeared  suddenly  at  the  doorway  as  the  of- 
ficer dismounted,  slung  the  reins  over  a  post,  and  then 
was  astonished  to  see  that  face  light  suddenly  and  become 
as  suddenly  suffused  with  a  radiant  blush.  The  next 
moment  it  seemed  as  suddenly  to  pale  with  dread. 

Freeman  stood  looking  at  Kate  Claiborne  in  perplex- 
ity and  surprise.  There  could  be  no  doubting  the  wel- 
come and  gladness  that  shone  in  her  face  at  first  sight  of 
him.  There  could  be  no  mistake  about  the  sudden  pallor 
that  followed.  Even  at  the  mention  of  his  name,  as  it 
sprang  to  her  lips,  she  turned  with  warning  glance  over 
her  shoulder,  and  then,  instead  of  bidding  him  welcome 
and  inviting  him  to  enter,  stood  practically  barring  the 
doorway,  white  to  the  very  lips. 

"Father  isn't  here  just  now,"  she  faltered.  "He  should 
be  coming  any  moment.  He  rode  over  to  see  Colonel 
Rolfe  about  some — some  trespassing  that  has  been  going 
on.  Did  you  wish  to  see  him  ?" 

"As  I  did — you,"  was  the  answer,  while  the  blue  eyes 
studied  her  troubled  face.  "I  came  this  way  purposely 
to  see  how  you  were,  after  our  adventure."  And  all  the 
time  he  was  wondering  what  manner  of  man  she  was 
harboring  there  and  striving  to  hide  from  him. 

"No  worse  for  the  wetting  at  least,"  she  answered, 
with  evident  effort.  "I  will  tell  father  you  called,  Mr. 
Freeman,  though  you  might  meet  him  on  the  road." 

He  saw  the  hint,  but  did  not  take  it.  "Colonel  Rolfe 
is  not  at  camp,"  said  he  designedly.  "I  happened  to  hear 
on  the  way  over  that  he  was  out  riding.  It's  my  belief 


98  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

he's  coming  back  by  way  of  the  Morgans',  and  I'm 
tempted  to  wait  for  him  here." 

The  temptation  must  have  come  from  within;  there 
was  none  apparent  in  look  or  word  of  hers.  It  was  the 
horses  that  came  to  her  rescue.  The  strange  animal, 
after  first  jubilantly  welcoming  anything  that  would 
dispel  his  loneliness,  had  turned  to  hostile  demonstration. 
Tethered  so  far  form  the  newcomer  that  he  could  not  bite, 
he  had  bethought  him  of  other  weapons,  and  let  fly  with 
his  heels. 

In  the  interests  of  peace  Mr.  Freeman  was  compelled 
to  run  down  the  steps  and  interpose.  Miss  Claiborne 
took  that  opportunity  to  dodge  into  the  house.  By  the 
time  the  horses  had  been  retied  beyond  kicking  distance, 
she  reappeared  with  a  tin  horn  in  her  hand.  "I'll  call 
Hector  from  the  barn,"  she  said,  and  sounded  a  blast  that 
should  have  brought  him,  but  Hector  came  not,  even 
after  a  third  summons.  A  colored  woman,  addressed  as 
Aunt  Phoebe,  appeared  from  the  kitchen  and  said  Hector 
had  ridden  to  mill  and  couldn't  be  back  before  sundown ; 
but  she  would  take  the  other  horse  to  stable,  and,  with 
unaccustomed  hand,  she  sought  to  loose  him  from  the 
rail.  It  took  Freeman's  aid  before  the  stiff  leather  would 
yield. 

"Whose  horse  is  this,  auntie  ?"  he  asked,  being  quite  a 
distance  from  the  porch,  and  having  reason  for  desiring 
to  know. 

"Gunnel  Mawgan's,  suh,"  was  the  prompt  answer. 

"I ., know — at  least,  I  thought  so,"  was  the  impatient  re- 
joinder, "but  who  rode  him  over?" 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  99 

"Who  rode  him,  suh?  Why,  one  of  the  farm-hands, 
suh.  Ah  don'  know  his  name.  He's  out  yahnduh,  waitin' 
for  Hector." 

With  that  the  negress  led  barn  and  feedward  the  cause 
of  the  recent  disturbance,  leaving  the  deserving  and  in- 
offensive at  the  rail,  but  Freeman  was  thinking  little  of 
his  own  mount.  His  eyes  followed  the  nimble  and  van- 
ishing heels,  for  one  of  them  had  lost  a  shoe. 

And  now  Kate  Claiborne,  with  a  shawl  thrown  over 
her  shoulders,  came  forth  from  the  little  sitting-room  that 
opened  on  the  porch  and  timidly  asked  if  the  lieutenant 
cared  to  step  in  and  rest  a  while,  or  should  she  tell  father 
he  had  called  and  would  be  glad  to  see  father  over  at 
camp?  Mr.  Freeman  had  questions  to  ask  that  decided 
him  to  enter.  He  had  not  seen  the  little  room  since  the 
evening  of  the  storm.  He  marveled  then,  as  he  had  on 
a  previous  visit,  at  the  evidences  of  better  days  that  stood 
on  every  hand.  The  costly,  old-fashioned  lamp,  the  few 
pictures,  the  books,  the  furniture,  and  curtains  were  not 
such  as  were  seen  among  the  humble  farms  of  that 
section  of  Kentucky.  Cheap  in  construction  and  humble 
in  design,  the  house  and  its  surroundings  told  of  straight- 
ened circumstances ;  yet,  upon  the  sideboard  and  in  many 
a  little  accessory,  were  bits  of  china  and  silver  that  spoke 
of  former  prosperity. 

"I  did  not  know  until  a  few  days  ago  that  this  had 
only  lately  become  your  home,"  said  Freeman. 

The  girl  uplifted  a  pair  of  dark  eyes  in  one  quick 
glance.  "Who  told  you  ?"  she  asked. 


loo  TH$  Rock  of  Chlckamauga, 

"Miss — Morgan,  I  think  it  was,"  hq  answered,  well 
knpwing  that  he  knew  it  was. 

"Miss  Morgan  is "  began  the  girl  resentfully,  then 

broke  off  suddenly.  "We  came  here,  from  Louisiana  not 
long  ago,  after — after  mother  died,"  she  continued,  with 
brave  effort.  "A  lawsuit  left  father  almost  penniless.  We 
owe  even  this  home  to  her  brother — over  in  Lebanon." 

"I  thought  you  were  not  Kentuckiana,"  said  he,  stand- 
ing at  the  old  round  center-table  and  studying  with  in- 
terest the  downcast  face.  "Were  you — educated  in  New 
Orleans?" 

"Yes,  at  the  old  Ursulines,  even  before  we  lost — 
mother."  Everything  seemed  to  date  from  that,  their 
first,  their  greatest  misfortune.  There  came  no  reply. 
He  who  had  begun  with  such  confidence  seemed  sud- 
denly silenced.  She  who  had  stood  before  him  with 
drooping  eyes,  her  long  lashes  sweeping  the  pallid  cheeks, 
presently  ventured  on  an  upward  glance.  She  had  been 
debating  whether  she  ought  to  ask  him  to  be  seated. 
Aunt  Phoebe  and  her  sister,  the  cook,  were  singing  in  the 
kitchen  (singing  rather  loudly  and  aggressively,  thought 
Freeman),  but  neither  could  hardly  pose  as  governess  or 
chaperon.  The  look  in  his  face  startled  her.  He  was 
gazing  at  her  with  dilating  eyes,  with  quick-mounting 
color.  Something  new  and  startling  had  occurred  to 
him. 

"Why,  then,  of  course — you  speak  French,"  said  he,  of 
a  sudden.  "What  a  dolt — what  an  ass  I  am,  and  here — 
I've  dared  to,  call  you  Kitty,  when  I  might  have  known 
that  you  were "  Suggestive  pause. 


The  Rock  of  Chickam&.uga.  /oi 

"What  was  I  ?"  she  asked,  very  simply,  but  with  dim- 
pling cheek  and  something  akin  to  enjoyment. 

"Why — oh,  don't  make  me  more  ridiculous  in  my  own 
sight,  whatever  I  am  in  yours!  A — a  lady,  is  what  I 

mean — not  a "  Farmer's  daughter  was  what,  in  his 

deep  humility  he  just  stopped  short  of  saying.  The  words 
did  not  sound  right.  Nothing  he  could  say  did  or  would. 
Yet  she  was  almost  archly  smiling  now.  She  was  feeling 
a  relief  and  comfort  he  neither  fathomed  nor  suspected. 
She  had  dreaded  question,  investigation,  perhaps,  con- 
cerning the  rider  whom  Phoebe  had  declared  to  be  a 
farm-hand,  which  more  than  likely  Mr.  Freeman  knew 
to  be  a  lie.  She  had  been  at  fearful  disadvantage,  for  the 
"farm-hand,"  so  described,  lurked  not  ten  feet  away,  and 
within  hearing  of  every  word  they  spoke.  She  had 
looked  to  see  the  young  officer  who  had  been  so  domi- 
nant, so  commanding,  and  forceful  the  night  of  the 
deluge,  so  strong  and  brave  and  determined  in  face  of 
the  flood,  when  he  plunged  to  her  stricken  father's  aid, 
again  strong,  forceful,  dominant;  yet  here  he  stood  be- 
fore her,  shame-stricken  and  abashed.  What  delicious 
empire  it  gave  her!  What  security  it  gave  to — to  her 
"farm-hand" !  Now  she  looked  almost  blithely  into  the 
blue  eyes. 

"Why,  every  girl  I  knew  spoke  French.  That  was 
nothing!  Mother's  people  were  French  Creoles.  It  was 
the  first  tongue  I  ever  heard.  We" — she  spoke  it  proudly, 
as  became  one  of  the  tribe — "mother's  people — are  Mil- 
laudons." 

She  had  looked  to  impress  him  pleasantly.     She  was 


IO2  The  Hock  of  Chickamauga. 

astounded  at  the  effect.  He  stood  gazing  at  her  one 
moment  stupidly.  Then  the  question  came  slowly,  reluc- 
tantly, as  though  he  hated  to  ask,  yet  felt  that  he  must : 

"You  a  Millaudon?  Then  Pierre  Millaudon,  of  the 
Zouaves — at  Columbus  ?" 

"Of  the  Zouaves,  but  not  at  Columbus;  at  Nashville, 
or  near  it,  on  staff  duty  now — is  my  first  cousin." 

Then  something  fell  with  a  crash  in  the  adjoining 
room.  Once  again  the  color  left  her  face,  and,  with  sud- 
den movement,  she  stepped  between  him  and  the  door. 
But  he  hardly  seemed  to  notice.  The  light  of  a  strange, 
new  knowledge  was  in  his  face.  In  bewilderment,  al- 
most in  distress,  he  gazed  one  moment  into  her  eyes, 
then  stammered: 

"Will  you  make  my  apologies  to  your  father,  Miss — 
Miss  Claiborne?  I  shall  see  him — later.  I  must  go." 

And  as  he  went  and  rode  away  without  one  backward 
look,  he  rode  unconscious  of  the  malevolence  in  the  eyes 
of  the  soldier  lurking  among  the  trees  at  the  stream  bank, 
unconscious  of  the  disappointment,  the  trouble,  the  timid, 
growing,  gathering  tenderness  in  the  dark  eyes  of  the 
girl,  standing  there  at  the  humble  doorway,  watching 
until,  nearly  half  a  mile  distant,  he  passed  from  her 
sight. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Pierre  Millaudon,  of  the  Crescent  Zouaves,  erstwhile 
of  the  "Institut"  at  Grenoble,  was  a  youth  Ned  Freeman 
little  knew,  less  liked,  and  who  hated  him,  as  he  had 
abundant  reason  to  know,  with  Gallic  force  and  fury. 
Freeman  was  an  "old  boy,"  an  upper-class  boy,  in  the 
famous  finishing  school,  when  young  Millaudon  there 
appeared,  a  lively,  handsome,  petted  fellow  from  Louisi- 
ana, a  lad  who  ruled  at  home,  and,  after  all  too  brief  ap- 
prenticeship, thought  to  lead-  among  his  mates  abroad. 
Bullying  and  fagging,  after  the  Britannic  method,  were 
things  unknown  at  Grenoble ;  so,  apparently,  were  Anglo- 
Saxon  means  of  settling  boy  disputes.  Freeman,  the  se- 
nior, caught  Millaudon,  a  mere  aspirant,  severely  caning 
a  little  lad  of  barely  half  his  years,  and  the  cane  was 
snapped  in  fragments,  after  being  laid  resoundingly  over 
Millaudon's  smarting  shoulders.  In  a  fury,  the  Creole 
had  demanded  satisfaction — the  foils,  pistols,  any  wea- 
pon, and,  nothing  of  the  kind  being  available  within 
school  limits,  had  dared  his  castigator  to  mortal  combat 
without  the  walls,  and  was  laughed  at.  Within  the  month 
that  followed  Millaudon  stood  dismissed  for  one  esca- 
pade after  another,  one  being  an  assault  on  Freeman  with 
a  knife.  The  knife  had  gone  whirling  one  way  and  the 
assailant  spinning  another,  floored  from  a  crashing  blow 
from  the  New  Yorker's  fist.  There  had  come  to  Free- 
man a  few  weeks  later  a  missive  breathing  wrath  eternal, 


IO4  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

and  it  was  torn  to  bits.    He  had  almost  forgotten  Millau- 
don  and  his  fulminations  until  that  night  of  stress  and 

storm  in  the  camp  of  the  th  Illinois. 

No  wonder  General  Thomas,  who  opened  and  read 
the  letter,  captured  with  others  and  their  Tennessee 
bearer,  addressed  to  an  officer  of  his  command,  had  seen 
fit  to  write  in  his  own  hand  some  words  of  warning  to 
the  son  of  one  of  his  oldest  friends  and  most  cherished 
kinsfolk,  Martha  Freeman,  nee  Kirkwood,  of  Virginia. 
Something  in  the  handwriting  itself  was  suggestive  of 
foreign  education,  if  not  extraction.  The  body  of  the 
communication,  couched  in  the  French  language,  left  no 
measure  of  doubt.  Translated,  it  read  substantially  as 
follows : 

Mill  Springs,  Kentucky, 

November  30,  1861. 

To  Lieutenant  Edgar  C.  Freeman,  Illinois  Regiment  of 
Infantry,  U.  S.  A.  Camp  near  Crab  Orchard,  Ken- 
tucky : 

MONSIEUR:  Again  I  find  it  possible  to  send  you  this 
expression  of  my  defiance.  Again  I  proclaim  you  coward 
and  canaille.  Again  the  memory  of  the  hideous  indigni- 
ties heaped  upon  me,  made  possible  by  your  brutal 
strength,  cries  aloud  for  reparation  and  revenge.  Again 
I  demand  of  you  the  one  amende  possible  to  the  soldier. 
It  is  but  a  day's  ride  for  you  to  neutral  ground.  To  meet 
you  on  the  field  of  honor  I  would  traverse  afoot  the 
broad  realm  of  the  South,  which  you  dare  not  penetrate ; 
yet,  for  me,  that  appeal  to  you,  it  is  possible  to  dare 
the  hostile  lines  of  these  infamous  invaders,  to  go  the 
length  of  the  land — even  within  the  shelter  of  your  lines 
I  will  consent  to  meet  you,  accompanied  by  but  a  single 
witness.  Had  you  the  courage  to  cross  the  Cumberland, 
safe  conduct  for  the  return  of  yourself,  or  your  remains, 
should  be  assured  you,  but  on  ground  and  with  weapon 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  105 

of  your  own  choice  I  should  leap  to  the  desired  combat, 
that  at  last  I  may  wipe  out  the  stain  upon  my  honor 
which,  inflicted  by  you,  pursues  me  to  the  grave. 

If  you  are  not  coward  beyond  expression,  unworthy 
the  glances  of  the  daughter  of  the  South  at  whose  feet 
you  prostrate  yourself  each  day,  you  will  accord  me  this 
long-demanded  meeting.  Name  your  seconds,  your  time, 
and  place,  pledging  only  what  remains  of  your  honor  as 
a  soldier  that  I  shall  not  be  led  into  ambuscade  or  trap, 
and  without  further  question  you  shall  behold  me  there. 

If  you  refuse,  then  the  gentleman  who  does  me  the 
honor  to  offer  to  be  my  witness  shall  pour  my  tale  into 
the  sympathetic  ear  of  the  sister  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Don- 
ald Morgan,  who  shall  despise  you  as  you  deserve. 
Awaiting  the  reply,  which  if  left  in  the  letter-box  at  the 
gateway  of  The  Oaks  will  assuredly  reach  me,  I  remain, 
with  due  respect, 

PIERRE  DUHAMEL  MILLAUDON, 
Lieutenant,  Crescent  City  Zouaves, 

Aide-de-camp. 

More  than  likely  is  it  that  but  for  two  missives  that 
came  with  this  curious  screed  Ned  Freeman  would  have 
begged  a  few  days'  leave,  gathered  up  Sam  Wetherby  or 
some  one  of  the  young  Kentuckians  he  had  grown  to 
know  and  like,  and  hied  him  to  meet  the  fiery  Creole,  pre- 
pared to  give  him  all  the  satisfaction  demanded.  But 
before  opening  the  challenge  he  had  read  these  first: 

MY  DEAR  BOY  :  I  am  enclosing  to  you  a  page  from  a 
recent  letter  of  your  mother,  whom  I  have  known  since 
we  were  children.  It  accounts  for  the  few  words  of  ad- 
monition I  must  send  you  now. 

You  have  pledged  your  life  and  your  sacred  honor  to 
the  cause  of  your  country,  and  a  life  so  pledged  is  not  to 
be  sacrificed  to  the  demand  of  an  armed  enemy  of  the 
United  States  on  the  ground  of  a  personal  quarrel.  I 
have  read  the  challenge  that  goes  herewith,  as  it  was 
my  duty  under  existing  circumstances,  and  under  no  cir- 


106  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

cumstances   could  I  prevent  you  should  you  accept  it. 
Most  certainly  you  shall  not  now. 

I  shall  see  that  General  Johnston,  whom  I  have  long 
known,  is  informed  of  the  matter,  and  this  young  fire- 
eater  is  bidden  to  confine  his  fighting  to  the  field  of  battle. 
Meantime  I  wish  to  see  you  here  on  other  matters,  and 
trust  that  the  order  issued  this  day  may  not  be  dis- 
agreeable to  you. 

One  word  more.  Your  dear  mother  is  by  no  means  the 
only  one  I  have  known  who,  at  the  Point,  thought  her 
son  the  object  of  some  officer's  malevolence.  You  are 
to  be  congratulated  that  so  fine  a  soldier  has  come  to 
command  your  regiment. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

GEORGE  H.  THOMAS. 

Within  this  letter  was  a  page  in  the  handwriting  he 
loved : 

"You  know  how  ardently,  had  his  father  been  spared 
to  us,  he  would  have  sanctioned  Edgar's  choice.  Though 
it  almost  breaks  my  heart  to  think  that  he  may  be  ordered 
to  march  against  the  very  homes  and  people t  always,  al- 
ways so  dear  to  me,  as  indeed  they  must  ever  be  to  you, 
my  boy  is  as  his  father  would  have  him — a  soldier  of  the 
Union. 

"May  God  guard  and  guide  him.  There  is  only  one 
ray  of  sunshine  to  cheer  these,  the  darkest  days  of  my 
life — his  regiment  is  to  be  under  your  command.  Elsie 
and  I  were  confounded  when  he  jubilantly  wrote  that 
Mr.  Rolfe,  whom  we  knew  as  his  most  vehement  op- 
pressor, if  not  his  virulent  enemy,  at  the  Point,  had  been 
made  colonel  and  was  coming  to  command  them.  God 
forgive  me  if  I  am  unjust,  but,  motherlike,  I  lay  the 
blame  of  poor  Edgar's  discharge  to  that  unsparing  young 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  107 

martinet.  My  boy  has  been  ever  high-spirited,  full  of 
life  and  ardor,  and  the  regulations  are  oppressive,  but  his 
instructors  in  France,  as  a  lad  at  Versailles,  and  later 
when  he  went  for  the  cours  at  Grenoble,  all  said  he  had 
so  much  of  esprit  and  ability.  They  simply  could  not  ap- 
preciate him  at  West  Point. 

"But  now  he  is  where  you  can  have  an  eye  and  a 
guiding  hand  upon  him,  and  for  auld  lang  syne  I  know 
you  will  be  a  friend  to  my  boy.  I  have  not  forgotten " 

But  the  rest  was  torn  away.  "Poor  mummie,"  Free- 
man had  whispered  to  himself,  as  he  kissed  the  page. 
"She  could  never  see  anything  but  the  angelic  side  of 
me,  or  the  black  side  of  Ruddy  Rolfe,  who's  worth  ten  of 
me." 

There  had  been  abundant  time  to  think  over  what  the 
general  had  written.  Freeman  had  enjoyed  putting  into 
French  certain  missives  laid  before  him  at  Liberty,  but 
there  was  no  acceptance  of  Millaudon's  defiance.  He  had 
rejoiced,  and  was  still  rejoicing,  at  the  confidence  reposed 
in  him,  and  proud  of  the  reflection  that,  young  as  he  was 
in  years,  rank,  and  experience,  he  knew  something  of  the 
commander's  plans  and  purposes  of  which  even  his 
colonel,  and  that  meddlesome  ass,  Cutler,  were  ignorant. 
He  was  excited  and  alarmed  to  read  that  Messieurs  Don- 
ald Morgan  and  Jack  Barbour  were  named  as  friends 
and  associates  of  the  inflammable,  unspeakable  little 
"piou-piou"  of  a  Creole  whose  vanity  and  gasconade 
had  made  him  the  butt  of  so  much  schoolboy  derision.  It 
was  through  them,  doubtless,  whom  he  had  never  seen, 
that  young  fire-eater  had  heard  of  his  devotion  to  Frances 


io8  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Morgan,  yet  how  had  they  been  informed?  But  he  was 
utterly  taken  aback  when  frankly,  fearlessly,  told  by  Kate 
Claiborne  that  Pierre,  the  inflammable,  was  her  first 
cousin. 

To  the  new  camp  of  his  regiment  he  had  gone  forth- 
with, reporting  to  Allis  his  return  to  duty,  as  the  colonel 
was  still  away  on  his  ride.  The  adjutant  had  greeted  him 
with  some  surprise.  It  had  been  bruited  that  Freeman 
was  appointed  to  some  duty  on  Thomas's  staff,  and,  as 
Thomas  was  a  stranger  to  every  officer,  and  nearly  every 
man  expect  Rolfe  and  Freeman,  the  regiment  had  not 
been  too  well  pleased.  The  fact  that  he  hailed  from  New 
York  instead  of  Illinois  had  been  a  handicap  to  begin 
with,  but  this  was  speedily  overcome  in  admiration  of 
his  knowledge  of  the  drill,  and  his  ability  to  instruct  the 
rank  and  file.  With  all  his  laughing,  devil-may-care 
ways,  Ned  Freeman  had  somewhat  reluctantly  been  con- 
ceded the  palm  as  the  "smartest"  young  officer  on  their 
rolls.  Nevertheless,  the  regiment  did  not  relish  it  that 
this  general,  of  whom  they  knew  so  little,  should  choose 
him  as  its  representative  on  his  staff.  These  were  very 
early  war  days,  remember,  and  very  new  and  unaccus- 
tomed officers,  elected  themselves  by  the  men  with  whom 
they  had  enlisted,  considered  that  regimental  representa- 
tives of  the  staffs  of  general  officers  should  be  selected,  as 
were  their  representatives  in  Congress,  by  the  ballot  of 
the  represented.  "If  General  Thomas  wanted  a  repre- 
sentative of  this  regiment  on  his  staff,"  said  Captain  Man- 
ning, who,  as  Freeman's  company  commander,  felt  espe- 


The  Rock'  of  Chickamauga.  109 

cially  aggrieved,  "why  the  devil  didn't  he  say  so,  and 
we'd  see  that  he  get  a  man  who  could  represent  it !" 

They  came  clustering  about  the  tent,  these  his  com- 
rades as  yet  untried,  as  soon  as  it  was  known  that  Free- 
man was  back,  eager  to  learn  the  nature  of  his  duties — 
what  manner  of  man  was  Thomas  ?  What  had  he  seen  and 
heard?  What  did  he  know?  When  were  they  going  to 
move,  and  what  in  all  creation  meant  it  that  the  rebs  were 
allowed  to  roost  there  in  peace  on  our  side  of  the  Cum- 
berland? Why  on  earth  didn't  he  shove  out  and  smash 
them  ?  What  could  General  Thomas  be  thinking  of  that 
he  didn't  order  them  forward  at  once?  Regimental  sen- 
timent, to  judge  from  the  tone  of  regimental  comment, 
was  well-nigh  as  hostile  to  General  Thomas  as  to  Gen- 
eral Zollicoffer,  whereat  Freeman  bristled. 

"You  fellows  can  all  go  to  Ballyhack!"  he  finally 
shouted.  "General  Thomas  knows  what  he's  doing,  and 
you  don't  know  what  you're  saying.  We'll  get  our  or- 
ders quick  enough." 

"Well  get  our  orders?  Who's  we?  I  thought  you 
were  going  on  Thomas's  staff  ?"  snapped  Skinner. 

"You  thought  wrong,"  was  the  snap  back.  "There 
was  something  I  happened  to  know  about — something  I 
could  be  of  use  in  for  an  hour  or  two,  that's  all.  I'm 
back  to  stay." 

Now,  this  was  distinctly  disappointing.  The  regiment 
had  made  up  its  mind  that  it  disapproved  of  the  military 
method  of  selection  of  staff-officers,  as  exemplified  in  the 
case  of  Freeman,  and  now  it  seems  they  were  wrong  in 
supposing  he  had  been  selected,  and  men  hate  to  be  put  in 


no  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

the  wrong.  Perhaps  had  they  known  that  the  matter  had 
actually  been  discussed,  their  resentment  at  the  new  and 
unexpected  turn  might  have  been  modified.  Very  gravely 
the  general  had  said  to  Freeman  that  he  had  all  the  staff- 
officers  he  needed  for  ordinary  duty,  that  he  should  send 
for  him  in  case  his  services  as  translator  were  again 
needed,  and  should  have  always  a  watchful  eye  over  him ; 
but  for  the  present,  at  least,  his  place  was  with  his  regi- 
ment, and,  oddly  enough,  Freeman  agreed  with  him. 
Just  as  oddly,  perhaps,  there  were  matters  he  did  not 
choose  to  explain.  He  was  in  what  even  Rawson,  his 
chum  and  tentmate,  called  a  "huffy"  frame  of  mind,  and 
the  blue  eyes  were  kindling  with  more  than  one  kind  of 
exasperation,  and  from  more  than  one  cause,  when  at  last 
the  gathering  broke  up  on  the  announcement  of  the  or- 
derly that  Colonel  Rolfe  had  returned  and  would  be  glad 
to  see  Lieutenant  Freeman  at  the  lieutenant's  con- 
venience, and  Freeman  went  the  moment  he  could  button 
himself  into  the  rehabilitated  uniform. 

And  Freeman  had  reason  to  be  disturbed.  Rawson 
and  the  regimental  tailor  had  done  their  best  with  his 
belongings.  The  mud-stained  uniform  looked  almost  as 
good  as  new,  and  the  overcoat  had  been  mended,  cleaned, 
and  pressed ;  but  Freeman's  face  was  grave,  indeed,  when 
told  by  his  tentmate  that  careful  search  had  been  made 
for,  but  nothing  had  been  found  of,  the  packet  of  letters 
and  the  flat  note-book.  The  note-book  was  in  the  inside 
pocket  of  that  overcoat  the  hour  he  left  The  Oaks,  as  he 
had  good  reason  to  know.  He  had  gone  thence  direct  to 
the  Claibornes,  down  under  the  heights,  and  after  that 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  1 1 1 

had  come  the  deluge,  after  that  had  been  given  him  the 
packet  of  letters. 

All  over  camp  the  candle-lights  were  beginning  to 
gleam,  and  in  the  big  marquee  where  sat  the  colonel, 
swinging  lanterns  threw  their  beams  over  the  soldierly 
young  face  and  form,  and  tinged  with  fire  the  auburn  of 
his  thick,  clustering  curls.  Rolfe  looked  up  from  his 
writing  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "Back  in  good  time,  Free- 
man," he  called,  as  he  held  forth  welcoming  hand.  "You 
bring  us  news  we're  going  to  move,  I  hope." 

"Why — no,  sir;  not  that  exactly,"  was  the  answer. 

Rolfe's  features  clouded  and  his  lips  compressed. 

"I  had  so  hoped  for  it,"  he  said.  "In  the  brief  talk  I 
had  with  General  Buell,  coming  through,  I  saw  how  in- 
tent he  was  on  clearing  the  State  of  everything  in  Con- 
federate gray,  and  I  know  the  chagrin  he  must  have  felt 
in  reporting  Zollicoffer's  advance  to  Washington." 

"Why,  colonel,"  burst  in  Freeman  impetuously,  "he 
understands  it  all  now.  That  will  right  itself  just  as 
soon  as — well,  I  don't  know  that  I  can  explain  it,  but  I 
know  General  Thomas  isn't  a  bit  bothered,  and  that  he 
has  written  General  Buell  his  views.  If  I  might  hazard 
a  guess,  he's  got  Zollicoffer  just  where  he  wants  him, 
and  hopes  to  keep  him  there  until  he's  ready  to  strike." 

Rolfe  shook  his  head.     "That's  the  trouble,"  he  said. 

"The  North  is  mad  with  impatience.  They  can't  un- 
derstand. They  think  we  should  be  just  as  ready  as  the 
rebs,  and  more  so.  They  can't  understand  this  waiting, 
waiting.  Why,  if  I  could  have  pushed  ahead  with  this 
regiment  ten  days  ago,  when  I  wanted  to — but  you 


1 1 1  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

haven't  heard  about  that.  I'm  afraid  it's  as  Major  Cutler 
says,  it'll  be  slow  trot,  slow  trot,  until  too  late.  I  am 
saying  to  you  what  I  wouldn't  say  to  another  officer  in 
the  regiment,  Freeman,  but  it's  what  I'd  say  to  the  gen- 
eral himself — for  I  love  him  and  don't  want  to  see  him 
downed." 

The  color  rose  to  Freeman's  face.  Well  he  remem- 
bered the  general's  inquiries  about  Cutler's  visit,  and  his 
unspoken  distrust  of  Cutler's  influence.  Young  as  he 
was,  Freeman  read  that  much  in  the  general's  reference 
to  Rolfe — his  hope  that  Rolfe  might  be  glad  to  serve 
with  him,  his  fear  that  he  might  not,  his  admission  that 
he  might  have  left  "some  enemy  in  the  old  regiment." 
Freeman  longed  to  speak  to  his  colonel  of  what  the  gen- 
eral h^d  said,  and  of  what  he  himself  felt,  yet  he  knew 
not  how.  He  had  impulsively  assured  the  general  of 
Rolfe's  loyalty  and  devotion.  The  general  was  his 
mother's  old  friend  and  playmate,  and  now  his  own 
patron  and  protector.  Rolfe  was  his  commanding  officer 
and  his  former  "tack."  Not  yet  had  he  shaken  off  the 
sense  of  awful  and  official  distance  separating  the  cadet 
from  the  instructing  and  inspecting  officer. 

But  there  was  a  matter  on  which  he  must  speak,  and 
that  at  once.  "It's  my  belief,  sir,  that  marching  orders 
will  come  any  day,  almost  any  moment,  and  there's  some- 
thing I've  got  to  tend  to.  Rawson  tells  me  he  told  you 
that  a  packet  of  letters  and  a  note-book  were  missing 
from  my  overcoat  pocket.  He  tells  me  he  questioned  the 
men  who  retrieved  it,  and  they  said  it  was  Major  Cutler 
who  examined  the  pockets.  Now,  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  113 


— did  Major  Cutler  say  these  things  were  missing  when 
he  made  search?" 

Rolfe  considered  a  moment.  He  had  noted  the  same 
idea  in  Rawson's  young  face,  in  his  glances  at  Cutler, 
and  his  hesitancy  after  he  made  report  of  the  loss.  More- 
over, Rolfe  had  chafed  and  fretted  under  Cutler's  as- 
sumption of  inquisitorial  functions  during  his  eventful 
visit.  He  disliked  Cutler  as  he  never  disliked  him  be- 
fore, but  Cutler  was  the  trusted  envoy  of  the  general 
commanding  the  department.  It  would  never  do  to  ques- 
tion his  integrity,  or  to  permit  such  question  among  his 
subordinates. 

"That  was  something  I  did  not  presume  to  ask,"  he 
answered  warningly.  "Are  there  not  others  to  whom 
you  should  first  apply?  Do  you  know — or  do  you  trust 
• — for  instance — these  farm  folk  at  the  Qaibornes?" 

Freeman  reddened  again.  "They  have  been  very  hos- 
pitable and  useful  to  me,  sir,"  he  began. 

"And,  Freeman,  what  I  fear  is,  that  you  have  been 
very  much  too  useful  to  them.  Look  at  this."  And  Rolfe 
held  forth  a  closely  written  page,  indicating  with  his 
thumb-nail  the  line  at  which  he  should  read.  It  was 
marked  "Confidential,"  and  came  from  department  head- 
quarters at  Louisville. 

"It  might  be  well  to  warn  young  Freeman  to  be  very 
guarded  in  his  dealings  with  this  family.  There  is  abun- 
dant reason  to  believe  them  in  frequent  communication 
with  persons  within  the  Confederate  lines.  Two  of  the 
captured  letters  were  for  the  daughter.  As  to  the  Mor- 
gans  "  But  here  the  page  ended. 


114  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"You  mean — you  think,  sir,  that  they  could  have  ex- 
tracted those  things?" 

"It  has  been — suggested  to  me,"  said  Rolfe. 

"Why,  Colonel  Rolfe,"  was  the  impetuous  reply,  "the 
letters  were  given  me  by  Mr.  Claiborne  for  friends  of 
his  in  town.  May  I  be  permitted  to  go  over  there  this 
evening?" 

"It  might  be  advisable,  Freeman ;  only,  be  cautious." 

And  so  once  again  he  found  himself,  afoot  now  and 
alone,  approaching  the  stepping-stone  crossing  of  the 
fork,  with  the  faint  light  of  the  Claiborne  cottage  twin- 
kling through  the  shrubbery  not  half  a  mile  ahead,  with 
the  bright  beam  of  larger,  steadier  light  shining  clear 
and  strong  from  the  Morgan  homestead,  a  mile  away 
to  the  westward,  on  the  crest  of  the  wooded  bluff.  Often 
as  he  had  watched  those  night-lights  at  The  Oaks,  he 
had  never  seen  them  burn  so  strong.  One  of  them,  at 
least — one  that  shone  from  an  upper  window  overlook- 
ing the  valley — must  be  visible  miles  across  the  low 
ground  and  far  out  over  the  Lexington  Road. 

It  was  barely  eight  o'clock,  and  yet,  just  as  suddenly 
as  did  the  light  at  the  upper  window  of  the  Helms'  the 
night  before,  that  bright  beam  vanished  before  his  eyes. 
Two  minutes  later  a  horse  was  splashing  his  way  through 
the  waters  of  the  ford  and  clattering  up  the  stony  path- 
way, long  pistol-shot  from  where  Freeman  stood — a 
horse  whose  shod  hoofs  rang  clear  and  sharp  and  me- 
tallic upon  the  limestone  rock  and  told  the  keen-eared 
listener  that  a  shoe  was  missing  from  the  fourth. 

So  Frances  Morgan  was  again  meeting  him. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  115 

For  a  moment  Freeman  forgot  the  mission  on  which  he 
came.  He  was  recalled  to  it  in  summary  fashion.  The 
hoofbeats  died  away  toward  the  Claiborne  farm,  and 
thither  he  followed.  When  within  an  hundred  yards  of 
the  gate  he  was  startled  by  a  sudden  sound  of  furious 
voices,  low  and  vehement;  then  a  struggle,  a  shot;  then 
a  shriek  from  the  little  porch  in  front,  and  Freeman  went 
bounding  to  he  knew  not  what.  Darting  through  the 
gate,  he  came  upon  a  swaying  ruck  of  men,  locked  in 
savage,  straining  battle,  three  against  one,  with  a  wild- 
eyed  girl  clinging,  frantic,  to  the  arm  of  one  of  them, 
Claiborne,  the  father.  Fiercely  the  young  soldier  struck 
with  his  revolver  butt,  and  one  assailant  went  down.  The 
next  instant  another  shot  rang  out,  he  himself  received 
from  behind  a  crushing  blow  upon  the  skull,  and  he  knew 
no  more  for  days. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Just  as  Freeman  had  predicted,  marching  orders  came 
for  Rolfe  and  his  regiment  even  before  they  thought 
them  possible,  but  Manning's  company  marched  without 
their  first  lieutenant.  Just  as  Manning  had  predicted,  the 
night  had  come  in  which  Freeman  was  missing,  and  per- 
haps for  all  time.  He  lay  with  bandaged  head  and  van- 
ished faculties,  with  a  gunshot  wound  in  the  side,  a  sore- 
stricken  man,  in  the  care  of  Farmer  Claiborne  and  his 
daughter,  neither  of  whom  could  or  would  fully  account 
for  what  had  happened.  All  that  Claiborne  would  ad- 
mit was  that  he  was  called  to  the  door  by  a  man  in  a  sol- 
dier's overcoat  and  cap,  who  asked  the  way  to  the  Illinois 
camp;  and,  when  Claiborne  went  with  him  to  the  gate, 
he  was  suddenly  confronted  by  a  revolver  in  the  hands 
of  another  soldier.  He  was  quick  enough  to  beat  down 
the  muzzle.  Instantly  he  was  grappled  by  three  men, 
at  least,  and  warned  not  to  utter  a  sound.  There  was  a 
furious  struggle;  the  revolver  was  discharged,  and  he 
felt  himself  overpowered,  when  suddenly  one  man  was 
knocked  flat  by  Lieutenant  Freeman,  who  was  in  turn 
felled  by  the  butt  of  a  gun  in  the  hands  of  a  fourth.  It 
seemed  as  though  he  was  shot  at  the  same  instant.  Then 
all  assailants  had  suddenly  vanished,  leaving  the  lieuten- 
ant stretched  senseless  on  the  ground. 

Miss  Claiborne's  tale  was  simple.  She  heard  a  scuffle, 
a  smothered  cry,  a  pistol-shot,  and  flew  to  her  father's 


The  Roek  of  Chiekamauga.  117 

aid.  The  ruffians  had  him  at  their  mercy.  They  were 
rough,  bearded  men ;  two  of  the  three  were  soldiers.  Then 
the  lieutenant  leaped  upon  them  from  the  gate  and  felled 
the  nearmost.  The  next  she  knew  another  shot  was  fired, 
the  lieutenant  and  her  father  both  were  down,  and  the 
villains  scattering  in  the  darkness.  Her  father  soon  re- 
vived, but  the  lieutenant  seemed  fearfully  hurt.  He  lay 
like  one  dead.  It  was  all  Hector  and  the  women  could 
do  to  drag  him  in  to  the  couch  where  the  surgeon  found 
him.  Then  they  had  sent  to  camp  for  aid,  and  Rolfe  and 
Doctor  Riggs,  and  others  had  come.  They  knew  the  rest. 

Riggs,  with  two  of  his  hospital  attendants,  indeed, 
spent  the  night  there ;  were  there  when,  with  anxious  face 
at  early  morning,  Colonel  Morgan  arrived  to  express  his 
dismay,  tender  his  services  and  sympathy,  and  to  beg 
that  the  young  gentleman  might  be  transferred  to  his 
homestead  where  he  could  have  more — well,  at  least,  more 
room.  Not  once  would  that  polished  gentleman  so  much 
as  intimate  that  better  attention  or  treatment  there 
awaited  him.  To  Mr.  Claiborne  he  was  civility  itself.  To 
the  daughter  he  was  chivalric,  yet  rough  old  Riggs  saw 
that  he  held  himself  as  of  superior  clay,  and  neither  father 
nor  daughter  failed  to  note  or  to  resent  it. 

Freeman  could  not  be  moved  for  a  week,  said  Riggs, 
and  might  not  be  moved  for  a  month.  The  blow  was  a 
savage  one,  dealt  by  some  arm  of  brutal  strength.  The 
bullet  wound  was  serious  and  had  cost  the  patient  a  lot 
of  blood.  For  three  days  the  surgeons  came  thrice  daily 
and  ministered  to  him.  For  three  days,  too,  Rolfe  made 
frequent  visits.  Rawson  did  not  envy  him  the  duty  of 


n8  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

writing  to  Freeman's  mother,  yet  Rolfe  showed  no  desire 
to  transfer  the  responsibility.  Rawson  came  and  sat 
hours  by  the  bedside  in  dumb  distress,  yet  envying  his 
unconscious  comrade  the  deft  and  gentle  ministrations 
of  that  soft-eyed,  soft-voiced  young  nurse.  Rolfe  and 
Rawson  both  were  there,  on  a  sort  of  farewell  visit,  the 
afternoon  the  order  came,  both  thinking  how  gentle,  how 
tender  and  sympathetic  a  girl  was  here,  when  other  voices 
were  heard  without,  and  Colonel  Morgan,  with  his  fair 
daughter  on  his  arm,  appeared  at  the  open  doorway,  and 
then,  as  Rawson  expressed  it  later,  "it  was  just  bully  to 
see  her  bristle !"  From  having  entertained  sentiments  of 
doubt,  if  not  hostility,  toward  Mr.  and  Miss  Claiborne, 
it  was  obvious  that  his  colonel  had  veered  to  kindlier 
views.  If  these  people  were  in  correspondence  with 
armed  enemies  across  the  line,  they  were,  on  the  other 
hand,  in  close  touch  with  their  friends  of  the  Union  blue. 
Just  one  thing  Claiborne  asked  of  Rolfe  when  the  colonel 
rode  away,  and  asked  it  in  response  to  the  colonel's  ques- 
tion if  there  were  not  something  he  could  do  to  show  his 
appreciation  of  what  they  were  doing  for  his  stricken 
lieutenant.  "It  isn't  for  my  sake,  but  my  daughter's,"  he 
said.  "She  is  naturally  unnerved  by  that — assault.  If 
you  could  leave  a  small  guard,  say,  for  this  week,  she'd 
feel  safer."  And  that  night  there  came  a  corporal  and 
five  men  whom  the  surgeon  said  would  better  not  attempt 
to  march  just  then,  and  Claiborne  lodged  them  in  his 
roomy  barn,  and  told  them  they  need  not  have  stuffed 
their  haversacks  with  soldier  fare. 

The  Morgans  did  not  repeat  their  visit  after  the  regi- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  119 

ment  marched  away.  Every  day  or  two  some  one  would 
ride  down  from  The  Oaks  with  the  colonel's  compliments 
and  how  was  Lieutenant  Freeman  this  morning,  and  in 
this  wise  did  the  Christmas  holidays  approach,  and  then 
one  morning,  to  the  amaze  of  the  guard  and  the  gentle 
nurse,  there  suddenly  appeared,  driving  out  from  Crab 
Orchard,  escorted  by  a  staff-officer  and  some  troopers, 
two  women,  in  fashionable  attire,  such  as  southern  and 
central  Kentucky  saw  little  of  that  solemn  winter  of  the 
war;  and  this  time  Kate  Claiborne's  "bristles"  turned  to 
blushes,  then  presently  to  pallor.  All  the  way  from  New 
York  had  they  come,  her  helpless  soldier's  mother  and 
sister,  to  thank  her  effusively  for  her  care  of  him,  but  to 
take  him  effectually  away. 

Three  days  and  nights  they  were  ceremoniously  enter- 
tained beneath  the  roof  of  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Morgan  at 
The  Oaks,  where  General  Thomas  himself  rode  over  to 
confer  with  them,  while  army  surgeons  from  Crab  Or- 
chard, with  ambulance  and  attendants,  were  preparing 
their  languid  patient  for  the  move.  He  had  recognized 
his  mother  the  moment  of  her  coming,  and  Elsie,  the 
blue-eyed  sister,  later.  They  had  done  their  best,  both 
mother  and  daughter,  to  show  their  gratitude,  to  ingra- 
tiate themselves  with  the  silent,  deep-eyed  girl  whose 
place  at  their  boy's  bedside  they  took  by  turns,  regardless 
of  feeble  remonstrance  on  his  part.  They  strove  to  make 
her  believe  them  her  grateful  friends,  but,  of  course,  not 
— not — well,  how  could  they  know  aught  of  the  Millau- 
dons?  Vaguely  they  saw  that,  in  spite  of  her  simple 
gown  and  schoolgirl  ways,  she  was  of  gentle  birth  and 


I2O  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

breeding.  Already  they  knew  of  the  adventure  of  the 
deluge,  and  were  prepared  to  look  upon  her  with  appre- 
hension, if  not  disapprobation.  Already  they  had  heard 
from  officers  at  Lexington  of  Ned's  devotion  to  Miss 
Morgan  of  The  Oaks.  Any  other  time  that  might  have 
been  a  source  of  disquietude,  now  it  brought  reaef.  It 
at  least  would  serve  to  keep  him  from  this — that  might 
be  folly.  A  far  from  blissful  three  days  did  Miss  Morgan 
find  these  of  the  Freemans'  visit.  She  had  much  to  vex 
and  worry  and  distress  her,  without  having  to  face  and 
entertain  these  aliens  to  whom,  under  other  circumstances, 
she  might  have  been  drawn  instinctively.  It  was  even 
seen  that  the  two  girls,  Frances  and  Elsie,  were  really 
ready  to  like  each  other ;  but  there  was  almost  inexpres- 
sible relief  to  the  women  of  the  household  on  the  hill 
when  the  day  came  that  saw  the  freighted  ambulance, 
with  its  escort  wagon,  doctor  and  troopers,  all  on  the  way 
to  the  North,  even  though  Frances  Morgan  hid  herself 
and  wept  almost  hysterically.  But  there  was  greater  sor- 
row in  one  young  heart  down  in  the  farmhouse  by  the 
stream. 

And  so  Ned  Freeman  was  bundled  back  by  slow  stages 
to  Lexington,  and  thence  to  Cincinnati,  and  there  was 
petted  and  spoiled  and  made  supremely  miserable,  despite 
every  effort  to  be  appreciative  of  the  lavish  mother  love, 
for  he  read  that  Rolfe  and  the  regiment  had  been  marched 
clear  over  to  the  Big  Sandy,  and  had  had  a  whack  at 
some  of  Humphrey  Marshall's  flankers,  on  the  run  for 
Cumberland  Gap.  And  then,  after  another  week  of  con- 
valescence, came  thrilling  news  indeed — news  he  had 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


looked  for  any  day  when  he  could  look  or  think  at  all  — 
news  that  set  the  North  afire  with  rejoicing  and  hope  — 
news  that  made  him  mad  with  misery,  to  think  he  could 
not  have  been  there,  and  so  brought  him  to  the  verge  of 
relapse  —  news  that  made  the  detractors  of  "Major  Slow 
Trot"  hide  their  heads  and  bridle  their  tongues,  for,  in 
spite  of  threats  and  clamor,  that  sturdy  soldier  had  kept 
calmly  at  his  preparations  until  the  men  he  needed  were 
within  striking  distance,  and  then  at  last,  with  Buell  to 
give  the  word  and  Thomas  to  execute  it,  the  "lion  chief" 
had  led  his  eager  regiments  forward  toward  the  Cumber- 
land ;  camped  them  at  Logan's  Cross  Roads  ;  and  there,  in 
pelting  rain  and  bitter  weather,  had  fought  and  won  the 
first  really  victorious  battle  of  the  war,  sending  George 
Crittenden's  division,  in  panic  and  dismay,  full  flight 
back  to  Dixie,  leaving  their  cannon,  their  trains,  and  their 
manifold  supplies  —  leaving  even  their  brave  and  beloved 
young  brigadier  dead  upon  the  north  bank  of  the  Cum- 
berland. Zollicoffer  was  no  more. 

Then  up  rose  Ned  Freeman  and  lead  his  unfilial  dec- 
laration of  independence.  Back  to  duty  would  he  go, 
though  mother  and  sister  might  weep  and  wail,  and  death 
await  him.  Nothing  short  of  shame  unutterable  was  it, 
said  he,  that  he  should  have  missed  those  glorious  days. 
With  infinite  dismay  they  let  him  go  ;  saw  him  headed  for 
the  blue  grass  counties  by  the  second  day,  but  fortunately, 
saw  him  not  the  sorrowful  evening  when,  alone  and  un- 
attended, still  only  half-strong,  he  stood  with  bared  head 
and  trembling  knees  by  the  wreck  and  ruin  of  what  had 


122  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

been  the  Claiborne  homestead.  Some  one  had  burned  it 
to  the  ground. 

It  was  the  evening  of  St.  Valentine's  Day,  and  he  had 
brought  her  from  Cincinnati  a  something  to  which  his 
mother  had  much  objected — a  locket  and  chain  of  beauti- 
ful workmanship.  "Such  gifts  are — unusual,"  said  the 
mother.  "So's  she,"  said  the  son.  His  heart  had  been 
hardened  against  the  girl  he  loved,  the  wilful  maid  of  the 
auburn  hair  who  dwelt  at  the  house  on  the  hill.  Her 
reception  of  his  nocturnal  visitor,  who  rode  the  three-shoe 
horse ;  her  apparent  indifference  to  his  plight  when  he  lay 
there  wounded  at  the  Claibornes',  had  gone  far  toward 
teaching  him  his  devotions  were  in  vain.  On  the  other 
hand,  his  heart  was  welling  over  with  gratitude  to  Kate 
Claiborne.  Both  Rolfe  and  Rawson  had  found  time  to 
write  and  tell  him  how  much  he  owed  to  her  ministra- 
tions; Rawson,  at  least,  being  mightily  envious.  One 
day,  just  before  his  departure  for  Cincinnati,  he  had 
casually,  as  it  were,  asked  Kate  Claiborne  if  Miss  Mor- 
gan had  ever  come  to  see  him  or  to  inquire,  and  Kate 
Claiborne — reddening  first,  then  turning  away — simply 
shook  her  head. 

He  had  hired  a  conveyance  at  Crab  Orchard  to  drive 
him  up  the  west  fork,  and  the  driver,  a  negro,  could  tell 
him  nothing  reliable  as  to  what  had  taken  place  during 
his  absence.  There  had  been  two  or  three  fires,  he  said, 
and  some  queer  doings,  and  the  cavalry  were  out  chasing 
two  nights  ago;  so  there  was  nothing  left  for  Freeman 
but  to  drive  up  to  The  Oaks,  see  Colonel  Morgan,  and 
beg:,  a  night's  shelter;  then,  with  the  morrow,  go  on  to 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  123 

Somerset,  where  General  Thomas  had  camped  and,  when 
weather  permitted,  was  drilling  his  enthusiastic  division. 

It  must  have  been  eight  o'clock  as  the  darky  driver 
reined  up  at  the  entrance  and,  bidding  him  wait,  Ned 
Freeman  stiffly  and  wearily  made  his  way  up  the  broad 
flight  of  steps  of  the  piazza,  and  knocked  loudly  at  the 
door.  A  dim  light  shone  from  the  hallway.  There  was 
presently  a  sound  of  shuffling  footsteps  and  then  of  un- 
barring; but  only  an  inch  or  two  was  the  door  opened, 
and  warily  came  the  Ethiopian  challenge,  "Who's  dar?" 
The  next  minute  it  was  flung  open  wide,  and  Aunt 
Phoebe,  with  much  joyous  acclaim,  was  drawing  Marse 
Freeman  within. 

Where  were  Colonel  Morgan  and  the  family?  Bless 
de  Lord,  they  were  safe  with  General  Thomas  over  at 
Somerset.  Where  were  Mr.  Claiborne  and  Miss  Kate? 
They  were  safe,  tuo,  but  it  was  no  place  for  them  around 
here  now.  They'd  gone  to  Doctor  Millaudon's,  over  at 
Lebanon,  until  Marse  Claiborne  could  get  well.  Yeas, 
suh,  Hector  and  Prue  and  she  were  helpin'  take  care  of 
The  Oaks  now.  Been  here  five  days,  ever  since  the  fire, 
and  Hector,  with  fellow  servants  from  below  stairs,  was 
by  this  time  clamoring  to  welcome  Marse  Freeman  back 
to  the  land  of  the  living,  and  to  take  the  team  and  driver 
to  shelter  and  to  tote  Marse  Freeman's  luggage  to  a  room 
— Marse  Donald's  own  room  when  he  was  home — Marse 
Donald,  who  hadn't  been  seen  or  heard  of  since  long  be- 
fore Christmas,  "an'  ole  miss  was  mos'  cryin'  her  eyes  out 
on  account  of  him." 

How  desolate  seemed  the  once  hospitable  old  home. 


124  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

How  strange  and  shadowy  the  halls  and  rooms  where, 
but  a  few  weeks  past,  there  had  been  mirth,  music, 
coquetry,  and  laughter.  Whatever  his  sympathies  in  the 
harsh  conflict  now  on  in  dead  earnest,  Colonel  Morgan 
had  ever  been  the  soul  of  grace  and  courtesy  to  the 
officers  who  visited  his  fireside,  and  many  a  caller  had  he. 
Freeman  looked  about  him  in  utter  loneliness  and  dejec- 
tion. He  had  by  no  means  recovered  strength.  He  was 
worn  and  wearied  by  the  long  journey.  He  was  but  par- 
tially refreshed  or  stimulated  by  the  wine  and  biscuit 
promptly  set  before  him,  with  the  added  assurance  that 
a  hot  supper  was  being  made  ready.  He  was  shocked 
at  the  new  misfortune  that  had  befallen  the  Claibornes. 
He  was  sore  disappointed,  though  he  strove  to  think  it 
impersonal,  that  the  Morgans  were  not  here  to  welcome 
him.  Luck  had  been  dead  against  him,  as  he  put  it,  ever 
since  that  night  of  the  storm  and  flood.  He  had  had  to 
come  round  by  way  of  Louisville  to  report  his  return  to 
the  department,  and  his  desire  to  resume  duty  with  his 
regiment.  He  had  thought  to  see  General  Buell  in  per- 
son, but  was  turned  over  to  a  somewhat  supercilious 
young  staff-officer,  a  mere  lieutenant  like  himself,  who 
nevertheless  had  assumed  airs  of  superiority,  told  him 
the  general  was  much  too  busy  to  see  him — er — any  one 
but — er — officers  from  the  front.  If,  however,  he  desired 
to  make  any  request  or — er — statement,  there  were  writ- 
ing materials,  and,  "Let  me  see,  you  are  the  officer  who 
met  with  some  injuries  in  a — fracas  of  some  kind  out 
there  near  Crab  Orchard,  I  believe,"  whereat  Freeman 
raged  in  spirit  and  turned  stiffly  away,  meeting  at  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  125 

door  an  officer  in  double-breasted  frock  and  major's 
shoulder-straps — a  man  with  high,  bald  forehead  and 
gray,  keen,  rolling  eyes  and  smooth-shaven  face,  about 
whose  compressed  lips  were  many  wrinkles,  and  whose 
long,  bony  hands  were  tip-touching,  finger  to  finger,  and 
pointing  downward  as  he  listened  with  bent  head  and 
averted  eyes — eyes  that  from  under  overhanging  brows 
seemed  to  look  at  everything  but  the  speaker — to  a  man 
in  civilian  garb  and  a  stubbly  beard,  who  started  sud- 
denly at  sight  of  Freeman  coming  forth,  and  hunched  up 
his  shoulders  and,  like  a  turtle,  drew  in  his  head,  while 
the  swift  flow  of  his  words  ceased  instantly.  Yet,  though 
the  back  was  all  he  saw  of  him,  Freeman  could  have 
sworn  he  had  seen  that  back  and  head  before.  He  even 
turned  and  looked  after  passing  them,  and  met  the  keen, 
sidelong  glance  from  under  the  bushy  brows  of  the 
smooth-faced  major,  while  again  the  stubbly-bearded  one 
faced  warily  the  other  way. 

Freeman  had  thought  to  be  civilly  received  at  depart- 
ment headquarters,  if  not  made  much  of  as  something  in 
the  way  of  a  hero  of  a  stirring  adventure,  but  the  very 
opposite  had  been  the  case;  and  this,  too,  had  disgusted 
and  depressed  him.  Now  it  had  begun  to  drizzle  again 
and  presently  to  pour,  and  though  the  old  butler  came 
with  lamp  and  more  candles,  and  soon  had  a  blazing  fire 
crackling  on  the  hearth,  and  the  room  was  snug  and 
warm  when  Freeman  returned  to  it  after  a  hearty  supper, 
he  was  still  depressed  and  troubled.  He  had  purposed 
getting  speedily  to  bed,  hopeful  of  a  long  night's  rest,  but, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


on  the  little  desk  under  an  overhanging  stack  of  book- 
shelves were  objects  that  set  him  to  thinking  —  a  big 
French  dictionary,  and  some  smaller  volumes,  grammar, 
and  verb  and  phrase-books.  There  were  half-sheets  of 
paper  and  penciled  words  and  sentences.  Whoever  the 
recent  occupant,  he,  or  she,  had  been  studying  French. 

How  the  rain  was  beating  on  the  roof  and  dripping 
from  the  overhanging  eaves!  How  much  better  off, 
could  he  only  realize  it,  was  he  in  all  this  light  and 
warmth  and  shelter  than  were  he  shivering  in  camp, 
or  squashing  round  the  sentry-posts  as  officer  of  the 
guard!  He  stepped  to  the  window  and  threw  aside  the 
curtains  to  have  a  look  out  over  the  eastern  lowlands, 
if  anything  could  be  seen  at  all.  No,  all  was  dark  as  Ere- 
bus ;  not  a  star  aloft  ;  not  a  twinkling  light  below.  Even 
in  the  few  scattered  farms  there  seemed  not  a  soul  awake. 

No.  One  moment!  Yonder  was  a  light,  just  popping 
into  view  from  somewhere  over  in  the  valley  beyond 
the  ruined  homestead  of  the  Claibornes.  Some  farm 
window,  probably,  though  memory  could  place  no  farm 
home  just  there.  Some  -  No,  was  it  even  a  light? 
For  now,  all  on  a  sudden,  it  had  disappeared  !  Five  sec- 
onds he  stood,  wondering  what  singular  illusion  was  this, 
when,  suddenly  as  it  shot  from  view,  it  again  shot  into 
sight;  flared  steadily  five  seconds;  then  vanished  as  be- 
fore. Then  as  suddenly  it  flashed  upon  Ned  Freeman  in 
all  its  significance.  Once,  twice,  thrice,  it  blazed,  then 
vanished;  then  "paused  for  a  reply/'  One  moment  he 
stood  with  beating  heart.  Then,  yielding  to  an  unaccount- 


He  lifted  the  glowing  lamp  close  to  the  window  ;    let  it  shine  steadily  five  ( 
or  ten  seconds  ;    then  sharply  turned  it  down. 

Page  127 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  127 

able  impulse;  lifted  the  glowing  lamp  close  to  the  win- 
dow ;  let  it  shine  steadily  five  or  ten  seconds ;  then  sharply 
turned  it  down;  crossed  to  the  mantel;  blew  out  the 
candle,  then  by  the  flickering  firelight  sat  and  watched 
and  waited. 


CHAPTER  XL 

And  "iow  that  the  deed  was  done,  the  summons  given, 
Ned  Freeman  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  himself.  Know- 
ing the  result  of  that  exchange  of  signals  over  at  Liberty, 
and  of  its  repetition  the  night  of  the  adventure  at  the 
Claibornes',  he  could  not  doubt  that  the  mysterious  night 
prowler  was  again  seeking  interview  with  some  one  of 
Colonel  Morgan's  household,  probably  Frances  herself. 
Who  that  prowler  could  be  was  as  yet  only  a  matter  of 
conjecture.  Freeman  had  his  theories — galling  theories — 
but  no  positive  proof.  In  his  longing  to  know  all,  he  had 
impulsively  replied  to  the  tentative  from  across  the  val- 
ley, and  now  devoutly  wished  himself  out  of  the  game. 

But  it  was  too  late.  Already,  as  he  felt  assured,  the 
stranger  was  on  his  way,  and  if  there  were  provision 
in  this  primitive  code  for  turning  welcome  into  warning, 
Freeman  knew  it  not.  If  "douse  the  glim"  meant 
"come,"  perhaps  the  restoration  of  the  lamp  might  seem 
to  say  "beware."  It  was  worth  the  trial.  Speedily  he 
whipped  off  the  globe,  but  found  himself  balked  by  the 
chimney.  It  was  set  in  some  fashion  strange  to  him.  He 
fumbled  a  moment  or  two  in  vain,  then  stepped  to  the 
stairway-landing  without  and  called  for  Phcebe.  Move- 
ment there  was  below,  and  sound  of  darky  voices  in 
eager  dispute,  but  response  there  was  none. 

It  would  be  ten  minutes,  he  reasoned,  before  the  vis- 
itor, even  on  a  fleet  horse,  could  cross  the  lowland,  breast 


The    Rock  of  Chickamauga.  129 


the  ford,  and  climb  the  winding  road  to  the  orchard-gate. 
There  was  still  time  to  set  the  warning,  and  the  single 
candle  in  his  room  would  hardly  suffice.  Light  there 
was  none  in  the  hall  below  stairs.  The  servants  had 
doubtless  locked  up  for  the  night,  but  Freeman  thought 
he  knew  his  way,  and,  with  hand  on  the  baluster-rail,  be- 
gan the  descent.  On  that  lower  floor,  opening  right  and 
left  from  the  broad  corridor,  were  parlor  and  sitting-room 
at  the  front,  dining-room  and  the  colonel's  library,  office, 
and  den  at  the  back.  A  short  flight  of  steps  led  from 
the  rear  of  the  hall  to  a  narrower  passageway,  flanked 
by  china-closets  and  storerooms,  and  leading  to  the 
kitchen  and  the  servants'  quarters  at  the  back.  Without 
difficulty,  Freeman  reached  the  lower  hall  and  started  for 
the  dark  passage,  and  now  he  had  no  rail  to  guide,  no 
stick  to  feel  for  the  steps  he  was  cautiously  approaching, 
and  calling  again  was  probably  useless,  for  the  alterca- 
tion was  waxing  louder  and  louder.  Nelson,  the  butler, 
was  laying  down  the  law  in  vehement  terms  to  an  over- 
awed Hector,  whose  response  was  feeble  as  Phoebe's 
was  vigorous.  Other  voices,  only  vaguely  familiar  to 
Freeman,  were  taking  occasional  part  in  the  hubbub,  and 
now  some  words  and  sentences  became  intelligible,  and 
Freeman  heard,  halted,  and  considered  what  to  do,  for 
Nelson's  ultimatum  was  suggestive  in  the  last  degree. 

*  'Tain't  no  'fair  o'  yours,  anyhow.  When  Miss  Fanny 
say  she  want  it,  that's  'nother  thing;  but  there  don't 
'nuther  drop  o'  the  colonel's  wine  go  out  o'  this  house  'til 
she  comes  back,  no  matter  who  ax  foh  it.  I'se  clone  got 
my  orders." 


130  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"Hit's  for  Marse  Donald,  an'  he's  got  as  good  a  right 
to  it  as  anybody,"  Aunt  Phoebe  declared,  in  stout  re- 
joinder. "Never  was  a  day  when  Marse  Freeman  was 
lyin'  down  yahnduh  you  didn't  come  wid  basket  an'  bot- 
tles, an'  the  colonel  must  'a'  know'd  Marse  Claiborne 
wouldn't  tetch  his  wine,  an'  it  wa'n't  for  cullud  folks,  an' 
there  must  'a'  been  somebody  to  drink  it;  an'  I'm  tellin' 
you  all  right  hyuh  and  now  dat  Marse  Donald's  all  dat 
saved  Marse  Freeman  an'  de  rest  of  us  dat  night." 

Freeman  listened  in  amaze,  but  there  was  more  to  come 
before  he  could  stop  it.  The  butler  again :  "Marse  Don- 
ald knows  day  ain't  anything  dese  ole  hands  wouldn't 
do  fo'  him.  It's  de  trash  he's  trainin'  wid  Marse 
Colonel  'spises.  Dey  ain't  anything  in  dis  house  too  good 
fo'  Marse  Donald  'f  he'd  only  come  hisself — dat's  what's 
killin'  his  fahder  and  mudder.  He  could  come  to  youh 
low-down  place,  an'  hang  'round  Miss  Katie  when  his 
own  sister  was  cryin'  her  eyes  out  for  a  sight  o'  him. 
Dat's  what's  killin'  the  rest  o'  us;  an'  jus'  how  Marse 
Colonel  could  'low  you  trash,  you  'n'  yo'  Hectoh,  to  come 
hyuh  and  live  on  him  arter  Marse  Claiborne  'cused  him 
as  he  did " 

But  the  rest  was  drowned  in  a  torrent  of  denunciation 
from  Phoebe's  lips,  and  that  in  turn  hushed  by  vehe- 
ment hammering  at  the  kitchen  door.  There  was  a  sound 
of  scurrying,  of  whispered  words  of  caution  and  dread, 
a  timid  challenge,  and  ringing  answer  from  without,  that 
led  to  speedy  unbarring,  coupled  with  further  admonition 
as  to  silence  and  caution.  It  could  not  be  that  the  dis- 
tant-signaling unknown  was  here.  Five  minutes  had 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  131 

hardly  elapsed.  Gruff  voices  were  at  the  kitchen  door, 
as  only  through  the  kitchen  windows  were  lights  visible 
from  without — gruff  voices,  the  stamp  of  hoofs,  the  clank 
of  sabers,  and  presently  a  parley.  A  cavalry  patrol,  be- 
lated, lost  in  the  tortuous,  dripping  country  roads,  hun- 
gry, wet,  weary,  and  miles  from  camp.  "Whose  place 
is  this?"  was  the  demand  of  the  sergeant  in  charge. 
"Where  is  Colonel  Morgan?"  Over  with  General 
Thomas,  the  butler  was  prompt  and  politic  to  say,  and  it 
made  instant  impression.  Would  Colonel  Morgan  object 
if  they  stabled  their  horses  at  the  barn  and  slept  in  the 
hay,  and  couldn't  they  have  coffee  and  a  bite  to  eat  ?  The 
colonel  himself,  had  he  been  there,  could  hardly  have 
outdone  his  colored  major  domo  in  the  grace  and  dignity 
of  his  hospitality.  Again  the  kitchen  fire  was  lighted. 
Again  all  was  stir  and  bustle.  While  one  young  darky 
showed  the  wayfarers  to  the  barn,  and  pulled  down  hay 
in  cartloads,  and  others  hastened  to  relieve  the  troop  of 
their  dripping  ponchos,  blankets,  and  accouterments,  Nel- 
son himself  served  the  sergeant  and  each  of  his  three 
men  with  a  nip  of  the  colonel's  Bourbon,  and,  under  cover 
of  all  the  excitement,  Ned  Freeman  crept  back  to  his 
room,  considering  what  was  now  best  to  do.  From  what 
he  could  judge  by  the  servants'  revelation,  Donald  Mor- 
gan was  lying  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  in  need 
of  attention,  nourishment,  stimulant,  and  his  associates 
were  repugnant  to  his  people.  Then  it  couldn't  be  Don- 
ald who  signaled.  It  couldn't  be  Donald  who  was  the 
shadowy  visitor  at  this  moment,  probably,  reconnoitering 
*lv*  ^ouse. 


132  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


Through  the  drip  and  patter  of  the  rain,  Freeman  could 
hear  the  continued  bustle  on  the  lower  floor,  and  pres- 
ently the  ringing,  hearty  tones  of  soldier  voices  in  the 
kitchen.  They  were  scouting,  it  seems,  for  certain  night- 
riders,  who,  not  in  uniform,  were  yet  in  sympathy  with 
the  Southern  army  and  acting  as  its  spies  and  agents, 
even  in  rear  of  the  Federal  lines.  The  fellows,  as  the 
sergeant  was  saying,  had  been  "tracked  to  this  neighbor- 
hood once  or  twice  before." 

And  here  stood  Freeman  in  Don  Morgan's  own  room, 
by  the  flickering  light  from  the  fireplace,  looking  about 
him  among  Donald's  abandoned  belongings  and  memen- 
tos, pondering  as  to  what  he  should  do  were  the  signals 
to  be  answered,  and  the  night  visitor  to  appear.  It  could 
not  be  Donald,  however — Donald,  who  according  to  Nel- 
son, had  been  "hangin'  'round  Miss  Kate,"  to  the  griev- 
ous disquietude  of  his  cavalier  father,  and  the  neglect 
cf  his  fond  mother  and  sister.  Freeman  was  beginning 
to  dislike  Donald,  a  symptom  unusual  toward  the  brother 
of  one's  adored.  It  was  high  time  for  further  develop- 
ments. If  those  troopers  had  not  come  just  when  they 
did,  the  visitor  should  have  made  his  arrival  known.  He 
could  hardly  expect  Miss  Morgan  to  meet  him  outside  a 
night  like  this. 

The  voices  below  stairs  had  rather  suddenly  quieted. 
A  cautious  step  was  heard  on  the  landing.  The  faint 
gleam  of  a  candle  appeared  in  the  hall,  and  old  Nelson 
stood  apologetically  at  the  open  door.  He  was  afraid, 
he  said,  the  noise  might  disturb  Marse  Freeman,  so  he 
had  told  the  soldiers  an  officer  was  sleeping  in  the  house, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  133 

a  wounded  officer,  "friend  of  General  Thomas,"  and  the 
effect  was  marked  and  immediate.  Nelson  hoped  Marse 
Freeman  was  comfortable.  Should  he  build  up  the  fire, 
or  help  him  undress  ?  Was  anything  wrong  with  the  lamp  ? 
Nelson  would  have  it  attended  to  at  once.  Nelson  sup- 
posed Marse  Freeman  had  gone  to  bed  before  this,  after 
the  long  day's  journey,  and  was  surprised  to  find  him 
still  up. 

So,  while  a  younger  retainer  was  summoned  to  replen- 
ish the  fire  and  relight  the  lamp,  Nelson  regaled  the  silent 
guest  with  further  particulars  as  to  the  patrol.  They 
were  wet  through  and  worn  out,  and  as  soon  as  the 
horses  were  rubbed  down  they  were  going  to  roll  in  their 
blankets  and  sleep  in  the  kitchen.  They  were  regulars, 
it  seems,  and  the  major  domo  would  have  tendered  bet- 
ter accommodations,  but  the  sergeant  said  they  must  be 
near  their  horses  and  off  at  dawn.  Nelson  would  have 
brought  down  mattresses  and  blankets,  but  the  sergeant 
said  the  hay  would  do.  He  had  served  under  General 
Thomas  in  the  Second  Cavalry,  he  said,  and  "knew  what 
the  major  liked  best,"  so  Freeman  said  he'd  like  to  see 
the  sergeant  when  he  came  back  from  the  barn,  whither 
the  four  had  just  gone. 

And  then  the  lamp  was  relighted.  The  fire  was  re- 
stored. A  big  armchair  was  pulled  in  front  of  the  fire- 
place for  Freeman's  comfort.  He  could  read  a  while,  he 
said,  and  then  Nelson  vanished,  closing  the  door  after  him. 

Freeman  at  once  went  to  the  window  and  threw  open 
the  shade.  Eastward  across  the  low  ground  all  was  dark- 
ness and  drizzle.  Northeastward,  toward  the  old  camp- 


134  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

ground  of  the  regiment,  a  single  light  seemed  faintly 
twinkling  in  some  farm  window  far  away,  and  that  was 
all.  The  height  on  which  stood  The  Oaks  was  quite 
commanding,  and  when  the  front  windows,  looking 
nearly  north,  were  illuminated,  they  could  be  seen  almost 
to  Crab  Orchard. 

"Those  hell-fires,"  Captain  Manning  had  called  them, 
in  his  excess  of  zeal.  Two  windows  on  the  second  floor 
looked  eastward — this  one  of  Donald's  room,  and  that  of 
his  sister,  next  to  the  front.  At  night  and  across  the 
valley,  if  only  one  of  these  happened  to  be  illuminated, 
nothing  short  of  a  fixed  theodolite  could  have  told  the 
observer  whether  it  were  his  or  hers.  That,  too,  might 
now  account  for  there  coming  no  further  sign  from 
without.  Freeman  presently  lowered  the  shade,  threw 
himself  into  the  chair,  and  took  up  the  topmost  of  a 
little  stack  of  books.  "The  Boy  Hunters,"  by  Captain 
Mayne  Reid,  and  the  fly-leaf  bore  the  inscription,  "To 
Donald,  Christmas,  1856,  from  his  father,"  and  from 
between  the  leaves  there  slid  into  his  lap  a  fresh,  white 
envelope,  closed  and  sealed.  Turning  it  over,  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  superscription,  and  he  knew  the  hand  at  a 

glance : 

"For  Donald. 
Immediate" 

"For  Donald!"  "Immediate!"  And  yet  Donald  had 
not  seen  it,  and  the  family  had  been  gone  three  days. 

Who,  then,  was  to  be  its  bearer? 

Prompted  by  an  impulse  he  could  neither  explain  nor 
resist,  Freeman  opened  wide  the  red  cover  of  the  story 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  135 

he  himself  had  read  and  reread,  and  shook  the  fluttering 
leaves.  A  scrap  of  paper  floated  to  the  floor.  He  picked 
it  up,  and  slowly  read  these  words: 

"J.  B.  must  not  come  again.  Father's  anger  and  the 
risks  are  too  great.  We  go  to  Somerset  in  morning  to 
be  gone  several  days.  Shall  try  to  see  Don  on  return.  He 
must  be  patient  and  get  well,  or  mother's  heart  will  break. 
Remember — J.  B.  must  not  come  again." 

The  knock  at  the  door  startled  him  so  that  he  dropped 
both  slip  and  note.  It  was  only  Nelson  with  the  ser- 
geant, a  trim,  young  fellow  in  cavalry  jacket,  who  sa- 
luted and  seemed  reluctant  to  enter.  It  was  a  moment 
before  Freeman  could  rally  his  faculties  and  remember 
that  he  wished  to  speak  to  him. 

"I  wish  to  drive  on  to  Somerset  in  the  morning,  ser- 
geant," he  said.  "How  are  the  roads  ?" 

"Bad,  sir.  Our  horses  were  dead  beat  when  we  got 
here.  We  should  have  been  at  Crab  Orchard,  and  might 
have  made  it,  if  we  hadn't  got  off  on  a  side  scout." 

"How  was  that?" 

"Looking  up  some  of  these  jayhawkers,  we  call  'em  in 
Kansas — night-riders  that  pick  off  stragglers  and  cour- 
iers. There's  been  a  lot  of  trouble  with  them.  They  got 
the  general's  despatches  twice,  and  this  afternoon  we 
thought  we'd  found  the  nest  of  a  gang  of  'em." 

"Where  away?" 

"Over  yonder,  across  the  valley,  about  three  miles  off. 
One  of  'em  we  heard  was  shot  and  hiding  in  the  farm- 
house loft " 

And  here  the  candle  fell  from  Nelson's  shaking-  hands, 


136  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

and  the  old  butler  grasped  at  the  door  for  support.  His 
face  was  twitching — ghastly — as  he  bent  to  gather  up  the 
scattered  fragments,  for  candle,  snuffers,  and  stick  had 
flown  apart. 

"Get  any  one?" 

"Nothing  but  women  and  children  and  niggers  about, 
sir.  Warning  got  there  first.  They'd  skipped  in  a  hurry 
and  left  this  much  behind,"  and  the  sergeant  stepped  for- 
ward with  a  little  flat  parcel  in  his  extended  hand.  "There 
were  some  other  traps,  but  there  was  nothing  to  identify 
them;  no  papers,  nor  letters — only  this." 

Freeman  took  and  curiously  opened  the  packet.  Two 
old-time  daguerreotypes,  in  their  square,  gilt  frames,  but 
shorn  of  covers,  were  the  first  to  catch  his  eye.  Holding 
one  of  them  so  that  the  lamplight  fell  at  the  proper 
angle,  he  looked  into  the  laughing  face  of  Frances  Mor- 
gan, and  that  was  quite  enough.  There  were  some  few 
letters  tied  with  ribbon,  and  these  two  portraits — the 
mother  and  sister. 

Steadying  his  voice  as  best  he  could,  Freeman  spoke. 
"I  am  going  to  join  General  Thomas  to-morrow,  and  I 
have  reason  to  know  he  will  be  glad  to  know  of  these. 
Shall  I  take  them,  or  do  you  prefer " 

"Whatever  the  lieutenant  says,  sir." 

"I  will  see  the  you  are  given  proper  credit  for  your 
services,  sergeant,  and  that  these  are  delivered  to — the 
proper  person.  Good  night." 

One  long,  meaning,  miserable  look  old  Nelson  gave  as 
he  left  the  room  to  lead  the  sergeant  below,  and  Lieuten- 
ant Freeman's  finger  was  significantly  on  his  lips. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  137 

An  hour  later,  every  sound  about  the  homestead  but 
the  drip  of  rain  had  died  away.  All  was  darkness 
save  that  one  window  on  the  second  floor.  Freeman 
placed  the  lamp  on  the  table  close  to  the  sill;  then,  de- 
liberately, at  intervals  of  about  five  seconds,  raised  and 
lowered  the  shade  three  times;  took  from  the  table  an 
envelope  in  which  he  had  placed  the  slip  and  the  note 
for  Donald ;  stowed  the  portraits  in  another ;  threw  over 
his  shoulders  the  cape  of  his  overcoat,  and,  candle  in 
hand,  stole  down-stairs  to  the  side  door,  opening  to  the 
east;  unbolted  it,  and,  leaving  the  candle  on  a  chair, 
stepped  noiselessly  out  into  the  night. 

The  orchard,  sloping  to  the  low  ground,  lay  but  forty 
paces  distant.  He  reached  the  fence  and  whistled  low, 
three  times ;  then  listened,  breathless. 

In  less  than  ten  seconds  came  the  response;  then  a 
footstep,  and  a  dark,  dripping  figure  stood  before  him. 

"Are  you  from  Donald  Morgan?"  he  demanded,  his 
tone  as  steady  and  stern  as  he  could  make  it,  for  his 
heart  was  jumping  hard. 

"Tell  me  first  who  you  are,"  was  the  muttered  answer. 

"A  bearer  of  a  note  for  him  and  a  message  for  one 
Jack  Barbour.  Do  you  happen  to  know — him?" 

"Give  me — the  message." 

"Read  it  yourself  first  chance  you  get,  and  then — heed 
it.  Give  him — these — and  tell  him  now  we  are  square. 
That's  all." 

And,  without  another  word,  Ned  Freeman  turned  on 
his  heel  and  went  back  into  the  house. 

But  there  was  commotion  with  the  dawn.    All  four,  the 


138  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

cavalry  horses  had  disappeared.  Saddles,  saddle-bags, 
bridles,  blankets,  halters — all  were  gone — and  Sergeant 
Bicknell,  shaking  a  gauntleted  fist  in  the  face  of  a  dazed- 
looking  trooper,  was  damning  him  for  a  lout  and  a 
traitor.  He  had  fallen  asleep  on  post. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  photograph  of  Miss  Frances  Morgan,  as  she  looked 
this  frosty  morn  of  February,  1862,  would  appeal  to  no 
man  or  woman  of  to-day  except,  perhaps,  as  an  antique 
or  fright,  whereas,  to  the  officers  of  Thomas's  staff  and 
of  the  First  Division,  she  was  nothing  short  of  a  tearing 
beauty,  and  was  well  aware  of  it.  Such  i;  the  influence 
of  the  fashion-plate.  Yet  in  1862  was  published  the  pic- 
ture of  two  young  girls,  attired  in  Zouave  jackets,  flat 
lace  collars,  and  balloon  skirts,  gazing  up  at  the  portrait 
of  their  grandmother  in  the  costume  of  the  days  of  the 
Directory  in  France,  and  of  the  administration  of  Wash- 
ington in  these  United  States,  and  one  of  the  girls  was 
saying  to  the  other :  "Do  you  suppose  we  will  look  such 
frights  as  that  to  our  granddaughters?" 

In  the  sad  eyes  of  a  devoted  mother,  Miss  Morgan  was 
a  picture  of  loveliness  as  she  reclined  this  keen,  yet  sun- 
shiny, morning  in  a  comfortable  old  rocking-chair  in 
front  of  a  snapping  hardwood  fire,  with  her  bronze  hair 
rippling  about  her  pretty,  shell-like  ears  and  softly 
rounded  cheeks.  It  was  parted  in  the  middle  and  combed 
and  brushed  to  glossy,  yet  wavy,  smoothness  to  frame  the 
really  lovely  face ;  then  gathered  into  some  kind  of  a 
plaited  knot  behind,  and  fastened  there  by  a  tortoise-shell 
comb.  Her  deep  eyes  were  downcast,  their  long  lashes 
sweeping  the  slightly  flushed  cheeks ;  the  toe  of  a  dainty 
slipper  was  impatiently  tapping  the  footstool,  and  giving 


140  The  Rocic  of  Chickamauga. 

premonitory  symptoms  of  a  possible  stamp.  The  bosom 
of  her  silken  gown  was  in  a  state  of  unrest,  and  her  slen- 
der, white  fingers  were  beating  impatient  tattoo,  for 
Miss  Fan  had  been  receiving  a  maternal  lecture,  by  no 
means  uncalled  for  or  undeserved,  and  the  subject  thereof 
was  Edgar  Freeman. 

They  had  spent  three  days,  in  the  hospitable  old  fashion 
of  Kentucky,  visiting  friends  at  Somerset,  in  order  that 
Colonel  Morgan  and  his  gentle  wife  might  have  occa- 
sional conference  with  General  Thomas,  for  they  were 
sorely  anxious  about  their  only  son.  Then,  before  re- 
turning to  The  Oaks,  they  had  driven  over  to  Liberty 
again  for  a  few  days'  sojourn  with  Mrs.  Helm,  and  here, 
with  a  pass  from  the  division  commander  in  his  pocket, 
Lieutenant  Freeman  had  found  them,  and  had  sought 
straightway  an  interview  with  the  soft-eyed  damsel  whom 
he  had  not  seen  since  December,  and  against  whom  his 
heart  had  been  for  a  time,  at  least,  unavailingly  steeled. 

Freeman's  uniform  and  equipments  were  new  and 
handsome,  but  Freeman  himself  was  not  looking  his  best. 
The  blue  eyes  were  filled  with  apprehension  and  anxiety. 
The  clear-cut,  soldierly,  young  face  was  clouded  with 
care.  Frances  Morgan  had  seen  him  come  driving  in 
from  the  Somerset  Road,  and  had  fled  to  the  upper  re- 
gions, to  the  room  whence  the  signal  had  gone  to  the  op- 
posite belt  of  woods  that  dark  December  night.  There 
had  been  an  occasional  tilt  between  them  during  that 
previous  visit — verbal  passages  at  arms  in  which  her 
wilful  ladyship  had  all  the  better  of  her  masculine  antag- 
onist. She  let  him  wait  now  full  half  an  hour,  talking 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  141 

with  her  mother  and  Mrs.  Helm.  She  only  went  down 
when  practically  sent  down,  and  her  welcome  to  Mr. 
Freeman  was  characteristic : 

"On  your  way  to  Lebanon,  I  suppose!" 

"I — certainly  hope  to  get  there  presently.  My  first 
duty,  however,"  with  immense  dignity,  "was  here;  to 
thank  your  mother  for  all  her  goodness  to  mine  and  to 
my  sister." 

"I'm  sure  it  was  only  a  pleasure.  You  left  them  well, 
I  hope,  and — in  New  York?" 

"In  Cincinnati.  I  went  no  farther.  Good  nursing 
brought  me  round  in  short  order." 

"Round  to — make  the  round  of  the  nurses?"  she  que- 
ried, with  feminine  skill. 

"I  have  certainly  messages  for  Miss  Claiborne  from 
them,"  he  responded,  with  much  stateliness,  "and  some- 
thing more  tangible  from  myself,"  he  added  daringly. 
Then  it  pleased  his  saturnine  mood  to  do  a  little  devil- 
ment of  his  own.  "I  wish  I  had  had  you  to  help  me 
choose.  Elsie  would  not  go." 

Miss  Morgan  bridled.  "How  should  /  know  what 
would  please  Miss  Claiborne?  Was  this  all  you  wished 
to  see  me  about,  Mr.  Freeman?  Because,  since  you  are 
going  over  to  Lebanon,  I'd  like  much  to  send  a  letter  or 
two,  if  you  don't  mind;  and,  of  course,  I  mustn't  detain 
you." 

It  was  not  all  he  wished  to  see  her  about  by  any  man- 
ner of  means,  but  in  so  teasing  and  wilful  a  mood  he 
preferred  not  to  see  her  at  all. 

"Take  all  the  time  you  wish  for  your  letters,"  he  an- 


142  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

swered,  with  a  smoldering  fire  in  each  blue  eye.  "There 
are  people  here  whom  I  much  wish  to  see,  and  I'll  call 
for  the  letters  when  I'm  ready  to  go,  to-morrow  or  next 
day,  perhaps."  And  for  once  he  went  victorious,  leaving 
her  in  possession  of  the  field  at  the  expense  of  the  loss 
of  her  temper.  Devoutly  she  wished  she  had  not  been  so 
intentionally  "nasty,"  to  use  her  own  thoughts,  about 
Kate  Claiborne.  It  had  betrayed  jealousy,  and  had  given 
him  a  distinct  advantage.  She  was  in  a  pet  when  her 
mother  found  her,  and  the  gentle  lecture  had  followed. 
Even  when  consumed  with  anxiety  about  her  son,  the 
good  lady  could  not  lose  sight  of  the  love-affair  of  her 
daughter,  and  Freeman  stock  had  risen  vastly  in  ma- 
ternal eyes  since  the  visit  of  Freeman's  mother  and  sister. 
Was  it  wise  to  treat  so  cavalierly — a  cavalier  so  obvi- 
ously well  connected? 

And,  as  that  proved  of  little  account,  and  Miss  Morgan 
seemed  obdurate  and  unmoved,  womanlike,  the  mother 
called  on  her  unseen,  unexpected  reserves. 

"Especially,"  said  she,  "a  man  who  has  risked  so  much 
to  shield  your  own  brother." 

And  this  brought  Miss  Morgan  to  her  feet  with  flash- 
ing eyes  and  a  demand  to  be  told  forthwith. 

"How  risked?  What — where — how  did  he  ever  meet 
Donald?"  Then  with  sudden  intuition:  "Then  Don- 
ald's been  hanging  round — that  girl — again?" 

"That  girl,  as  you  call  her,  never  encouraged  him.  I'll 
do  her  that  justice,  at  least.  One  reason  your  father 
was  reconciled  to  Don's  leaving  Kentucky  was  that  it 
might  put  an  end  to  that  affair.  He  knows  now  what  he 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  143 

did  not  dream  then — that  she  is  as  well  connected — as 
well — as  we  are.  Even  Mr.  Freeman's  people  could  see 
that." 

"Even  Mr.  Freeman's !  I'd  like  to  know  wherein  their 
superiority  lies  !  But  what  is  this  about  Donald  ?  When 
and  how  did  they  meet  ?  You  know,  and  I  know,  Donald 
was  at  the  Claiborne  place  at  a  perilous  time,  and  then — 
but  what  has  he  ever  done  for  Donald?" 

"It  is  something  your  father  forbids  my  speaking  of, 
even  to  him  again.  He  only  heard  of  it  yesterday  when 
Nelson  came  over  with  the  horses.  He  is  utterly  un- 
strung by  the  news.  Between  his  sense  of  duty  to  Gen- 
eral Thomas  and  his  dread  of  consequences  to  Donald, 
he  is  simply  unnerved  to-day.  He  did  not  sleep  a  wink 
last  night.  He  supposed  that  Donald  and  Jack  were 
in  Tennessee.  He  had  heard  nothing  of  his  daring  to  re- 
turn, and  of  what  he  was  doing.  He  didn't  know,  and  I 
didn't  dare  tell  your  father,  of  Donald's  injury  and  his 
being  in  hiding;  but  the  very  night  Mr.  Freeman  spent 
at  The  Oaks  the  cavalry  were  there  looking  for  Donald 
and  Jack — had  even  searched  the  Grossman  place  that 
afternoon,  and  Nelson  told  your  father  that  Mr.  Freeman 
himself  warned  Jack  Barbour  to  get  Donald  away,  and 
showed  him  how  to  get  horses." 

Frances  Morgan's  eyes  were  dilating.  "Do  you  mean 
that  Mr.  Freeman  spent  a  night  at — our  house?" 

"Yes,  in  Donald's  room,  and  signaled  Jack  Barbour  to 
come.  Jack  himself  told  Nelson." 

With  her  hands  pressed  to  her  white  temples,  the  girl 


144  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

stood  a  moment,  speechless,  staring  at  her  mother,  then 
turned  and  flung  herself  from  the  room. 

In  bitter  mood  Ned  Freeman  had  left  the  house  and 
sought  certain  cronies  in  the  near-by  camp.  With  division 
headquarters  at  Somerset,  the  victorious  troops  were  dis- 
tributed in  the  neighborhood,  fitting  out,  as  swiftly  as 
limited  military  conditions  would  permit,  for  some  im- 
pending move.  All  was  stir  and  excitement.  It  was 
known  that,  to  the  west  of  the  Army  of  the  Ohio,  a 
strong  column  had  ascended  the  Cumberland,  and  was  in- 
vesting Fort  Donelson  just  across  the  line  in  Tennessee. 
Who  was  this  man  Grant  from  Illinois?  Even  Rolfe's 
regiment,  the  only  Illinois  command  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Somerset,  could  tell  nothing  about  him.  All  Rolfe  him- 
self knew  was  that  he  was  a  West  Pointer  who  had  been 
in  the  Mexican  War — and  hard  luck.  The  governor 
made  him  a  colonel  because  he  was  the  only  man  about 
Springfield  who  had  any  knowledge  of  army  ways,  and 
the  President  named  him  brigadier,  no  one  in  the  First 
Division  knew  why ;  but  he  had  been  "doing  things"  ever 
since.  It  was  told  in  the  camps  that  Mitchell,  with  the 
Third  Division,  was  ordered  forward  to  busy  the  enemy 
at  Bowling  Green,  and  keep  him  from  sending  aid  to 
Buckner  at  Donelson.  It  was  known  that  Nelson,  with 
the  Fourth  Division,  was  at  Camp  Wicklifre,  under 
orders  to  move  at  once,  and  it  had  leaked  out  that  they 
were  to  go  to  reenforce  Grant ;  but  here  at  Somerset  sat 
and  waited  the  man  who  had  won  the  only  decisive  and 
satisfactory  victory.  East,  west,  or  south,  nothing  had 
jret  given  the  enemy  such  a  blow  as  Thomas  dealt  at  Mill 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  145 

Springs.  In  spite  of  which,  barring  guarded  words  of 
thanks,  there  came  nothing  from  Buell  at  Louisville,  or 
Stanton  at  Washington,  to  express  confidence  in  his  lead- 
ership or  extend  further  opportunity  for  action. 

Something  was  surely  amiss.  Patient,  serene,  subordi- 
nate, the  division  commander  went  about  his  duties;  ri- 
ding from  camp  to  camp;  noting  the  discipline,  drills, 
equipment,  and  general  condition  of  his  men;  keeping  a 
watchful  eye  on  everything  at  the  front,  but  paying  no 
heed  to  gossip  or  rumor  from  the  rear;  and  those  were 
days  when  camps  were  full  of  both.  One  of  the  first 
things  Thomas's  staff-officers  learned  was  Thomas's  dis- 
taste for  camp  gossip.  He  shrank  from  it  almost  as  he 
did  from  certain  camp-fire  stories.  Never  a  second  time 
did  a  narrator,  no  matter  what  his  rank  or  wit,  attempt 
one  in  the  general's  presence.  There,  he  and  Grant  were 
alike. 

But  even  as  Freeman  strolled  this  day  into  the  camp 

of  the  th  Indiana,  he  came  upon  a  little  group  of 

officers  near  the  colonel's  tent,  and  heard  again  a  rumor 
that  had  already  given  him  cause  for  thought  and  worry. 
They  were  seated  about  a  camp-fire,  their  big  cape  coats 
bundled  up  about  their  ears,  with  the  canteen  passing 
freely,  as  was  the  jovial  custom  of  the  day;  and  a  tall 
lieutenant-colonel,  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  division 
commander,  was  on  his  feet  and  telling  of  a  visit  he  had 
paid  him  late  one  night  the  week  following  the  battle. 
"It  was  eleven  o'clock,  but  I  thought  the  news  I  brought 
of  sufficient  importance  to  rout  him  out,  and  they  went 
and  waked  him,  and  he  called  me  into  his  tent,  and 


146  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

sat  up  in  bed,  and,  by  gad,  sir,  there  was  old  'Slow  Trot* 
in  a  nightshirt.  Yes,  sir,  and  with  sheets  and  pillow- 
cases. I'd  been  sleeping  in  my  boots,  and  when  he  saw 
the  look  in  my  face  he  just  sort  of  smiled  and  said :  Tve 
gone  regularly  to  bed  every  night  since  the  battle,'  said 
he.  'I,  too,  used  to  sleep  in  my  clothes  before  that,  but 
Mill  Springs  taught  me  no  number  of  the  enemy  could 
drive  our  pickets  in  so  fast  but  that  I  would  have  plenty 
of  time  to  dress.'  Then  he  thanked  me  for  coming  in 
with  my  news,  though  I  found  out  next  day  he  knew  all 
about  it  beforehand." 

"And  not  until  Mill  Springs,"  said  the  colonel  com- 
manding, evidently  another  sturdy  supporter,  "did  e'er  a 
one  of  us  see  him  in  a  brigadier-general's  uniform.  Be- 
fore it's  six  months  old  it  will  be  a  major-general's,  if  he 
gets  his  rights.  How's  that,  major?"  There  was  just 
a  bit  of  Irish  mischief,  as  even  Freeman  could  see,  in  the 
tone  of  the  questioner,  as  the  colonel  turned  sharply  on 
a  huddled  form,  a  little  to  his  left — an  officer  whose  big 
eyes  and  nose  were  the  only  facial  feature  visible — whose 
fingers,  extended  and  meeting  at  the  tips,  were  pointing 
downward  over  his  bony  knees ;  and  the  instant  he  began 
his  reply  Freeman  recognized  in  the  speaker  the  officer 
with  the  Jesuitical  cast  of  countenance  whom  he  had 
seen  about  the  camp  on  west  fork,  and  at  headquarters  at 
Louisville.  What  was  old  Cutler  doing  here? 

"How's  that?"  repeated  Cutler  slowly  and  reflectively. 
"Thomas  a  major-general?  Well,  before  they  come  to 
him,  you  know,  there's  Buell  back  here  at  Louisville,  and 
there's  that  queer  fellow  Grant,  over  at  Donelson. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  147 

There's  Charley  Smith,  and  John  Pope,  and  others  I 
might  name,  and — when  you  come  down  to  it — what's 
Thomas  done?  He  didn't  attack  and  beat  Crittenden, 
as  he  was  expected  to  do.  He  went  out  and  waited,  and 
then  Crittenden  attacked  him.  Thomas's  men  were  fat, 
well  fed,  well  clothed,  and  strong.  They  had  slept  com- 
fortably all  night.  The  rebs  were  lean,  cold,  and  hungry. 
They  had  been  marching  all  night  long  in  the  wet  and 
mud,  and  were  beaten  out  when  they  began  the  battle. 
You  fellows  didn't  half  have  to  fight.  They  were  good  as 
whipped  before  you  hit  them.  It  was  the  weather,  the 
conditions,  their  own  bad  generalship,  that  did  the  busi- 
ness ;  not  Thomas — not  even  Thomas's  division.  So  I  see 
no  major-generalship  in  sight  for  that,  even  if — there 
weren't  other  things." 

"Well,  now,  what  other  things  ?"  demanded  the  colonel, 
his  Celtic  choler  rising.  "You've  been  hinting  about  other 
things,  and  sneering  at  Thomas,  every  time  we  meet,  and 
I'm  damned  if  it  don't  gall  me — and  my  officers,  too " 

"One  moment,"  said  Cutler  imperturbably,  with  up- 
lifted hand.  "Don't  mistake  my  regrets  for  sneers.  No 
one  wishes  these  things  were  otherwise  more  than  do  I, 
but  Thomas  has  only  himself  to  thank  or  blame.  He  per- 
sists in  maintaining  friendly  relations  with  people  of 
known  secession  proclivities.  They've  just  sent  a  divis- 
ion commander  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  to  a  cell  at 
Fort  Lafayette  for  less  than  what  I  hear  of  Thomas." 

"Who's  that?"  was  the  instant  demand. 

"Charles  P.  Stone,  of  the  regular  army,"  was  the 
placid  reply,  "and  I  was  there  when  he  was  commanding 


148  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

at  Edward's  Ferry,  and  heard  then  of  his  interchange  of 
letters  and  messages  and  civilities  with  two  old  friends 
of  Thomas's  on  the  other  side — Shanks  Evans  and  Jenifer. 
The  worst  Stone's  enemies  could  say  was  that  he  sent  his 
compliments  to  Evans ;  but  think  of  what  it  led  to !  Now, 
if  Stanton  sends  a  general  to  the  lockup  for  sending  his 
compliments  to  the  opposing  commander,  what  do  you 
suppose  he'd  say  or  do  if  he  could  see  what  we've  seen 
and  known  of  Thomas  ?  Gentlemen,  these  are  times  when 
we  can't  be  too  careful  about  our  associations — our  ac- 
tions." 

"How  about  our  words,  Major  Cutler?" 

The  question  came,  clean-cut  and  sharp.  The  voice 
was  young,  and  there  was  the  tremor  of  wrath  and  right- 
eous indignation,  but  it  rang  out  bold  and  brave  and  true, 
and  Cutler,  in  the  dea4  silence  that  followed,  turned 
slowly  and  deliberately,  and  allowed  his  great  eyes  to 
sweep  the  questioner  slowly  from  head  to  foot.  Finally 
he  spoke. 

"You,  I  take  it,  are  Lieutenant  Freeman,  of  Rolfe's 
regiment?" 

"Of  Colonel  Rolfe's  regiment,  and  General  Thomas's 
division,"  was  the  sturdy  answer,  "and  a  man  who  be- 
lieves in  both  of  them  and  doesn't  take  kindly  to — your 
remarks." 

"Young  gentlemen  of  your  impulsive  temperament," 
began  the  major  slowly,  "would  be  wise  to  avoid  contro- 
versy, especially  when  they  themselves  have  much  to 
explain." 

"Any  time  my  colonel,  or  my  general,  wants  me  to  ex- 


"  Young  gentlemen  of  your  impulsive  temperament  would  be  wise  to  avoid 
controversy,  especially  when  they  themselves  have  much  to  explain." 

Page  148 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  149 

plain,  he  has  only  to  say  so ;  but  to  you,  at  least,  I  am  not 
answerable.  On  the  contrary,"  and  here  the  foreign  edu- 
cation began  to  tell,  "I  hold  you  answerable  to  me  for 
your  insinuation." 

"Gintlemen,  gintlemen !"  began  the  colonel,  rising  has- 
tily to  his  feet.  "This  will  never  do " 

But  Cutler  never  quit  his  camp-chair.  Impressively  he 
uplifted  his  hand,  as  though  to  invoke  silence  and  atten- 
tion. 

"It  is  because  the  general  does  not  make  you  explain 
that  it  appears  that  he  does  not  want  you  to,"  said  he, 
addressing  Freeman.  "It  is  that,  among  other  things,  I 
have  to  regret  in  Thomas.  As  for  yourself,  an  officer 
who  is  suspected,  if  not  discredited,  in  his  own  regiment, 
you  should  know  better  than  to  attempt  to  pose  as  the 
champion  of  General  Thomas  and  make  a  scene  here." 

"There's  just  one  answer  to  be  made  to  that,  Major 
Cutler,"  was  the  furious  rejoinder,  for  Cutler's  calm  had 
exasperated  the  younger  soldier.  "You  insinuate — you 
dare  not  say — that  General  Thomas  is  disloyal.  You 
dare  to  say  I  am  discredited  and  suspected  in  my  regi- 
ment/' He  stood  squarely  confronting  the  slouching, 
seated,  half-muffled  form,  his  gauntlet  in  his  hand.  Then, 
with  quick  and  sudden  movement,  he  slashed  the  heavy 
cuff  across  the  elder's  pallid  face,  which  went  crimson 
on  the  instant.  "That  is  my  answer!"  and  Freeman 
stepped  back  to  give  his  adversary  room. 

But  Cutler  never  rose.  In  the  intense  thrill  and  ex- 
citement of  the  moment,  two  or  three  of  the  group  had 
sprung  to  their  feet,  tiie  colonel  himself  interposing  be- 


150  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

tween  the  angering  pair,  but  he  need  have  taken  no  pre- 
caution. 

"Colonel  Sullivan,  and  gentlemen,"  said  Cutler,  "you 
are  witnesses  to  what  has  taken  place.  This  transfers  the 
matter  from  the  personal  to  the  official,  and  so  it  must  be 
treated.  No,  pray  do  not  interfere.  There  shall  be  no 
further  trouble." 

But  a  burst  of  cheering  from  over  on  the  roadway 
side,  a  sound  as  of  rush  and  excitement,  had  brought 
others  hurrying  from  their  tents.  Every  man  of  the  little 
group  was  on  his  feet  and  aquiver  with  excitement ;  every 
man  but  Cutler.  A  clatter  of  hoofs  turned  all  eyes  to 
the  coming  horseman — a  staff-officer  covered  with  spume 
and  mud,  and  he  was  madly  swinging  his  cap. 

"Donelson's  fallen !  Buckner's  surrendered !"  he  cried. 
"Biggest  victory  yet!  And  we're  all  ordered  to  Nash- 
ville!" 

And  so,  while  Frances  Morgan  would  have  welcomed 
the  return  of  her  messenger  to  Lebanon,  he  came  not. 
The  whole  division  was  going ;  not  Ned  Freeman  alone — 
going  and  leaving  Central  Kentucky  to  the  care  of  the 
Home  Guards;  going  and  leaving  the  elder  Morgans  to 
sore  anxiety  because  of  the  missing,  wayward  son ;  going 
and  leaving  Frances  Morgan  in  deep  distress  of  mind, 
for  Colonel  Rolfe,  riding  over  from  the  marching  col- 
umn to  say  adieu,  and  asked  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
Lieutenant  Freeman,  replied  in  grave  embarrassment  and 
obvious  concern,  that  Lieutenant  Freeman  could  not 
come  with  him;  in  fact,  he  was  not  with  the  regiment 
just  now.  He  had  been — summoned  elsewhere — on  mat- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  151 

ters  of  importance,  and  Colonel  "Ruddy"  cut  short  his 
adieu,  and  vaulted  into  the  saddle,  and  not  until  later 
in  the  evening  was  Colonel  Morgan  able  to  hear  anything 
more  definite.  Lieutenant  Freeman,  he  gravely  informed 
his  wife  and  daughter,  with  his  eyes  on  the  latter 's  face, 
had  been  sent,  under  telegraphic  orders  from  General 
Buell,  to  Louisville,  in  close  arrest. 

Then  Fanny  Morgan  fled  to  her  room. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

March  had  come  and  gone.  The  First  Division,  most 
of  the  Army  of  the  Ohio  with  it,  had  moved  to  Nashville 
and  beyond.  With  its  hold  on  the  Tennessee  loosened  by 
the  loss  of  Forts  Henry  and  Donelson,  the  army  of  Sid- 
ney Johnston  had  retired  to  northern  Mississippi.  Then 
it  was  that  those  famous  raiders  and  riders,  Forrest  and 
Morgan,  began  their  phenomenal  exploits  in  the  rear  of 
the  Union  lines,  and  played  havoc  with  our  communica- 
tions in  Kentucky.  Incidentally,  they  paid  domiciliary 
visits  to  families  previously  referred  to  in  these  pages, 
and,  whether  welcome  or  not,  certain  cavalry  officers  in 
Confederate  gray  spent  more  than  one  day  and  night 
at  The  Oaks;  sipped  the  priceless  Madeira,  and  sampled, 
with  possibly  greater  appreciation,  the  native  Bourbon 
with  which  the  veteran  had  regaled  them.  It  was  told 
later  in  Confederate  camps  that  Colonel  Morgan  the 
guest  drank  to  Colonel  Morgan  the  host;  it  was  de- 
clared at  Union  headquarters  that  Colonel  Morgan  the 
host  drank' to  Colonel  Morgan  the  guest.  It  was  known 
beyond  peradventure  that  certain  adventurous  young 
Kentuckians  of  prominent  families,  hitherto  home-keep- 
ing youths,  had  been  carried  away  by  the  infectious  en- 
thusiasm of  these  their  cavalier  kindred  from  beyond 
the  Cumberland,  and  had  'listed  with  the  Southern 
guidons  for  good  and  all.  It  was  rumored  that  Messrs. 
Jack  Barbour  and  Donald  Morgan,  whose  whereabouts 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  153 

had  been  a  mystery,  rode  foremost  among  the  raiders, 
consummate  guides,  as  a  matter  of  course.  They  knew 
every  bridle-path  in  mid-Kentucky. 

April  had  come  and  gone.  The  shock  of  Shiloh  was  a 
thing  of  the  past.  The  Army  of  the  Tennessee,  camping 
in  fancied  security  among  the  woods  about  Pittsburg, 
had  been  attacked  in  force  by  Johnston's  legions  and 
doubled  in  upon  itself,  where  in  the  gathering  dusk  the 
guns  of  the  navy  raked  the  charging .  gray  lines  and 
stemmed  the  tide,  where  the  leading  divisions  of  the 
Army  of  the  Ohio,  hastened  forward  in  spite  of  assurance 
that  there  was  no  need  for  haste,  crossed  to  the  support 
of  their  recently  envied  neighbors,  and  helped  them  to  the 
revenge  of  the  following  day.  Shiloh  taught  the  North 
a  needed  lesson,  and  cost  the  South  a  noble  man — Sidney 
Johnston  died  at  the  head  of  his  division,  leading,  late 
in  what  had  promised  to  be  a  victorious  day,  a  final  -and 
hopeless  attack. 

And,  just  as  that  strange,  mephistophelean  major  had 
predicted,  the  first  major-generals  had  been  named  from 
the  army  for  the  volunteers,  and  Thomas,  he  who  fought 
and  won  the  first  battle  of  any  consequence,  was  not  of 
the  number.  Four  statesmen,  prominent  in  politics,  and 
presumably,  therefore,  Well  suited  to  lead  the  professional 
soldiers  in  the  field,  had  early  been  chosen  by  the  admin- 
istration to  head  its  list  of  chieftains — Dix,  Banks,  But- 
ler, and  Morgan.  Two  veteran  soldiers,  Hunter  and 
Hitchcock,  had  been  advanced  to  similar  grade.  No  one 
of  the  six  had  yet  done  anything  in  high  command,  but 
six  valuable  berths  were  filled  to  the  exclusion  of  six  pos- 


154  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

sibly  active  and  valuable  soldiers.  Now,  the  time  had 
come  when  the  immense  numbers  of  fighting  men  in  the 
field  demanded  in  corresponding  numbers  generals  of 
suitable  rank,  and,  as  was  to  be  expected  and  as  was 
richly  deserved,  the  victor  of  Fort  Donelson  was  the  first 
to  be  named.  Brigadier-general  U.  S.  Grant  became 
major-general,  to  date  from  February  i6th,  and  no  one 
heard  from  the  lips  of  George  H.  Thomas,  who  had  won 
the  earlier  battle  of  Mill  Springs,  one  word  of  complaint. 
His  time  would  surely  come. 

But,  meantime,  to  the  amaze  of  the  First  Division, 
other  promotions  were  speedily  announced,  and,  while 
their  leader  sat  in  silence,  forbidding  in  his  presence 
words  of  censure  or  criticism,  the  officers  and  men  who 
had  learned  to  love  their  lionlike  chief,  were  loud  in 
their  comments.  First  came  Irvin  McDowell,  major- 
general  from  the  I4th  of  March.  "What  had  he  done 
but  get  walloped  at  Bull  Run?"  said  they.  Next,  Am- 
brose E.  Burnside,  from  March  i8th.  "What  on  earth 
had  he  done  but  share  McDowell's  misfortune?"  Then, 
from  March  2ist,  came  an  astonishing  list,  and  now, 
whenever  sure  their  soldier-leader  stood  not  within  hear- 
ing, his  devoted  followers  turned  loose  and  swore.  No 
less  than  eight  brigadiers  had  been  named  major-gen- 
erals, but  Mill  Springs  had  been  ignored — it  could  never 
have  been  forgotten.  Pope,  Curtis,  Sigel,  McClernand, 
Charles  F.  Smith,  and  Lew  Wallace — all  appointed  over 
Thomas  to  double-starred  rank  and  command,  and  still 
Thomas  would  say  nothing. 

But  fhere  were  men  who  did  talk  and  would  talk,  even 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  155 

among  West  Pointers;  men  like  "Ruddy'*  Rolfe,  for  in- 
stance; and  "Ruddy"  had  already  a  following  in  the 
Army  of  the  Ohio,  for  he  had  licked  into  shape  one  of 
the  finest  regiments  in  the  service,  and,  from  having  been 
a  most  unpopular  colonel  at  the  start,  had  won  the  solid 
respect  of  every  officer  under  him,  even  those  who 
damned  him  secretly  for  his  discipline.  "Ruddy"  had  his 
enemies — the  strong  and  fearless  commander  is  never 
without  them — and  it  wasn't  long  before  "Ruddy's" 
words  were  being  distorted  at  Buell's  headquarters.  That 
Buell  himself,  commander  and  disciplinarian  of  the  Army 
of  the  Ohio,  should  have  been  given  the  double  stars, 
was  a  matter  of  course.  No  soldier  could  find  fault  with 
that.  Thomas  was  almost  the  first  to  extend  his  con- 
gratulations. But  the  talebearers  who  carried  to  Buell 
the  remarks  of  Colonel  Rolfe,  upon  the  ignoring  of 
Thomas  and  the  preferment  over  him  of  certain  of  the 
crop  of  March  2ist,  deftly  made  those  remarks  apply  to 
all,  and  "Don  Carlos,"  as  his  smarting  soldiers  would 
sometimes  refer  to  their  most  soldierly  commander,  was 
really  hurt. 

Buell  looked  upon  Rolfe  as  one  of  his  very  best 
colonels,  as  he  looked  upon  Thomas  as  his  very  best  gen- 
eral, and  to  be  told  that  Rolfe  had  sneered  at  him  and 
set  him  at  naught  cut  that  stern  commander  to  the  heart. 
"Perhaps,"  suggested  his  informant  suddenly,  uplifting 
his  great  eyes  and  rolling  them  upon  Buell's  clear-cut 
face,  "it  might  be  well  if  I  were  to  see  Rolfe  and  sound 
him  as  to  how  much  of  this  came  from  Thomas,"  and 
the  pressing  finger-tips,  down-pointed,  came  up  for  the 


156  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

moment,  with  the  swift,  furtive  glance,  and  then  went 
down,  for  Buell's  answer  chilled  him.  None  the  less  did 
Major  Cutler  consider  himself  authorized  at  a  future  date, 
within  the  month  that  followed  Shiloh,  to  say  a  warning 
word  to  that  hot-headed  young  colonel,  and  in  this  wise 
was  it  done: 

"You  do  yourself  injustice,  Rolfe,  in  fathering  such 
statements.  Moreover,  you  exalt  Thomas  in  a  way  his 
deeds  do  not  warrant,  unless  you  wish  to  heap  coals  of 
fire  on  his  head  for  euchring  you  out  of  your  chance  at 
Mill  Springs." 

"What  the  devil  do  you  mean?"  was  the  indignant 
query. 

"Fact/'  said  Cutler,  with  a  roll  of  his  eyes  that  finally 
focused  ort  the  boot-toes.  "You  thought  Buell  sent  you 
on  that  wild-goose  chase  over  to  the  Gap,  after  the  rebs 
got  fairly  away.  It  was  Thomas  himself  who  urged  it. 
You  see,  he  had  favorites  about  him  he  had  to  remember 
— Fry,  Hoskins,  Manson,  McCook,  Steedman — don't  you 
see?  Wait  till  the  fiext  crop  of  brigadiers  is  gath- 
ered  " 

"Do  you  meah,  Major  Cutler,  that  General  Thomas 
asked  that  I  be  detached  and  sent  over  to  the  Big 
Sandy?" 

"You  Were  sent  at  General  Thomas's  personal  request," 
was  the  uncompromising  answer.  "As  for  generalship, 
judge  for  yourself.  Who  of  Buell's  division  commanders 
deserved  his  gratitude  for  energy  in  the  rush  to  save  the 
Army  of  the  Tennessee  ?  Who  got  to  Shiloh  ?  That  rip- 
roaring,  old  sailor,  Nelson,  first.  Then  came  McCook; 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  157 

then  even  Crittenden.  Who  didn't  get  there  ?  Old  'Slow 
Trot/  " 

There  was  more  than  one  way  of  damning  a  loyal  and 
subordinate  officer,  a  possible  rival  or  a  personal  foe,  and 
in  this  mode  of  warfare  was  Cutler  past  master.  Rolfe 
turned  away  from  him  in  unmitigated  disgust,  hut  the 
fang  had  sunk  deep,  and  the  poison  was  in,  full  flow  as 
he  turned  and  went  forth  into  the  brooding  silence  of 
the  night. 

To  think  that  Thomas,  the  leader  he  most  venerated, 
should  have  sought  to  get  rid  of  him  and  his  regiment  on 
the  eve  of  battle,  in  order  that  the  credit  and  reward 
might  go  to  men  who,  being  in  touch  with  politicians, 
could  better  back  the  general's  ambition!  Rolfe  could 
hardly  believe  it,  yet  Cutler  swore  it  was  so.  Cutler  had 
even  quoted  a  paragraph,  verbatim,  from  Thomas's  letter : 

"For  these  reasons,  therefore,  I  recommend  that 
Colonel  Rolfe,  with  his  regiment,  be  sent  as  suggested. 
It  will  be  a  valuable  experience,"  and  when  Rolfe  asked 
what  were  those  reasons,  the  inscrutable  Cutler  replied: 
"General  Buell  did  not  see  fit  to  show  them  to  me,  but 
you  can  imagine."  All  of  which  was  strictly  true.  In 
point  of  fact,  General  Buell  had  not  seen  fit  to  show 
Major  Cutler  any  portion  of  that  letter,  or  many  another 
that  came  to  him.  It  was  Cutler's  way  to  wander  in 
among  the  clerks'  and  junior  officers'  desks,  to  pick  up 
a  letter  or  paper  as  though  fully  acquainted  with  its  con- 
tents, to  even  suggest  changes  in  the  diction  of  reports, 
replies,  and  endorsements.  Cutler,  with  less  real  business 
of  his  own  at  headquarters,  was  apparently  the  busiest 


158  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

man  about  it.  But  not  until  after  Shiloh — after,  in  fact, 
the  reorganization  that  followed — did  Cutler  begin  to  sus- 
pect that  Buell  would  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  him. 

It  was  then  that  Major  Cutler  began  to  appear  fre- 
quently at  the  headquarters  of  Major-general  Henry  W. 
Halleck,  U.  S.  A.,  one  of  the  three  officers  suddenly 
appointed  to  that  exalted  grade  in  the  regular  service, 
they  having  quit  that  service  for  civil  life  many  years 
before.  It  seemed  odd  to  the  little  and  long-suffering 
army  of  the  old  days  that  its  highest  offices  should  be 
tendered  to  those  who  had  turned  their  backs  upon  it. 
But  in  this  wise,  or  rather  way,  came  McClellan,  Fre- 
mont, and  Halleck  >  into  "the  regulars"  again,  and  thus 
were  they  given  command  over  their  former  superiors  in 
both  the  regulars  and  volunteers.  To  Cutler,  as  we  have 
seen,  all  things  were  fair  in  war.  He  had  known  of  Hal- 
leck in  his  California  days,  and,  now  that  Halleck  had 
come  to  lead  the  whole  Army  of  the  West,  absorbing 
into  one  the  commands  of  Grant,  Buell,  and  Pope,  redis- 
tributing divisions,  brigades,  and  staff,  it  occurred  to  Cut- 
ler as  not  unlikely  that  Halleck  might  be  glad  of  the 
services  in  his  military  family  of  an  officer  who  could 
give  him  reliable  information  as  to  everybody  in  the 
Army  of  the  Ohio  from  General  Buell  down.  There 
was  reason  to  believe  General  Halleck  could  not  know 
much  about  it. 

But  away  they  had  gone  after  Sidney  Johnston's  sore- 
hearted  people,  bereft  of  their  brilliant  leader  and  the 
hoped-for  fruits  of  victory.  And  now,  "Old  Brains,"  as 
the  soldiers  saw  fit  to  call  their  new  generalissimo,  had 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  159 

broken  up  the  separate,  so-called,  "armies"  and  merged 
them  all  into  one  grand  array,  with  wings  and  center, 
reserves  and  cavalry,  and  now  at  last  the  double  stars 
had  come  to  Thomas,  and  he  appeared  at  the  head  of  no 
less  than  five  divisions,  his  own,  and  four  from  the  old 
Army  of  the  Tennessee,  the  right  wing  of  the  forces  in 
the  southwestern  field;  and,  though  it  was  not  for  long, 
there  was  rejoicing  among  the  men  who  had  learned  to 
know  and  love  him. 

It  was  soon  after  this  time,  too,  that  Major  Cutler  ap- 
peared one  day  with  silver  leaves  instead  of  the  dull  and 
tarnished  gold  upon  his  shoulder-straps;  Washington,  at 
the  suggestion  of  "Old  Brains,"  having  rewarded  this 
faithful  soldier-servitor  with  promotion  to  the  grade  of 
lieutenant-colonel.  Corinth  finally  fell.  The  Army  of 
the  South  broke  up  into  detachments  along  the  extended 
front.  Once  again  the  comrades  of  Mexican  War  bat- 
tery days  and  of  later  California  experiences  were  thrown 
in  strange  juxtaposition.  "A  little  more  grape,  Captain 
Bragg,"  was  the  word  at  Buena  Vista.  Bragg  had 
stepped  into  Sidney  Johnston's  shoes  and  was  speeding 
along  the  south  bank  of  the  Tennessee  for  Chattanooga. 
Buell,  with  most  of  his  old  men,  started  swiftly  along 
the  north  bank,  in  hopes  of  heading  him,  giving  to 
Thomas,  just  as  before,  the  duty  of  bringing  up  the  rear ; 
and  Thomas,  silent  and  subordinate  as  ever,  if  not  over- 
pleased,  was  serving  dutifully,  faithfully,  loyally,  little 
thinking  that  other  and  later  views  and  impressions  as 
to  his  capacity  and  character  had  gone  to  Washington, 
where  that  rasping,  irritating,  suspicious  war  secretary, 


160  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Stanton,  sat  in  state  and  ruled  things  with  an  iron 
hand. 

The  summer  of  '62  had  come.  A  new  idol  of  the 
Eastern  Army  was  tottering-;  a  new  adviser  from  the 
Western  Army  sat  in  judgment  on  his  every  move.  "Old 
Brains"  had  been  sumrnoned  to  the  war  department  as 
general-in-chief  of  all  the  forces,  and,  having  differed 
with  Buell  on  a  dozen  points  in  the  campaign  of  the 
West,  began  now  to  differ  with  every  other  leader  within 
his  reach.  The  air  was  full  of  trouble  in  Virginia,  for, 
despite  the  illimitable  patience  of  the  President,  McClel- 
Jan  and  the  administration  were  utterly  at  odds.  The 
summer  was  barely  on  the  wane  when  it  dawned  on 
Washington  that,  both  east  and  west,  the  armies  of  the 
South  had  started  for  the  North.  Lee  was  marching  for 
the  Potomac  -and  possibly  beyond ;  Bragg  was  marching 
on  the  Cumberland.  On  August  3Oth,  in  Virginia,  the 
Union  Army  was  backing  across  Bull  Run,  with  Lee, 
Longstreet,  and  Jackson  in  hot  pursuit.  On  August  3Oth, 
in  Tennessee,  old  "Slow  Trot"  had  captured  Bragg's  de- 
spatch announcing  that  his  advance  had  turned  Cumber- 
land Gap  and  was  already  in  Kentucky. 

And  then  came  woful  days  at  Washington  and  tre- 
mendous stir  both  east  and  west.  A  fortnight  more 
and  the  blue  and  the  gray  were  north  of  the  Potomac  and 
maneuvering  for  the  grapple  of  Antietam.  In  that  same 
fortnight,  the  blue  and  the  gray,  Buell  and  Bragg,  were 
across  the  Cumberland  and  racing  for  Louisville, 
Thomas,  as  the  most  trusted  subordinate,  being  left  with 
a  strong  force,  at  all  hazards  to  hold  Nashville.  Already 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  161 

then  there  was  faith  in  Thomas's  ability  to  hold.  Another 
week,  and  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  in  a  death-grapple, 
held  its  veteran  antagonist  on  the  heights  of  Sharpsburg, 
and  then  turned  the  gray  tide  back  into  Virginia.  In 
that  same  week,  Bragg,  after  beating  Buell  in  the  race, 
thought  best  to  avoid  meeting  him  in  battle.  Thomas  had 
been  sent  for,  had  personally  posted  the  divisions  for  ac- 
tion, and  Bragg,  knowing  his  former  first  lieutenant  far 
better  than  did  the  war  department,  drew  away  east- 
ward, leaving  open  the  road  to  terror-stricken  Louisville. 
Thither  Buell  pushed  his  columns.  Then  he  turned  and 
confronted  his  antagonist,  and  then  received  the  amazing 
order  from  "Old  Brains"  relieving  him  from,  and  order- 
ing Thomas  to  assume,  the  command. 

And  Ned  Freeman,  held  in  arrest  for  forty  days^^wait- 
ing  orders  full  one  hundred  and  forty,  sick  at  heart  long 
weeks  of  the  time,  imploring,  urging,  demanding  action 
in  his  case,  if  charges  had  been  preferred,  and  being 
"stood  off,"  as  the  soldiers  say,  on  one  claim  or  another, 
swung  his  cap  in  air  and  shouted  with  glee  that  now  at 
last  he  would  get  speedy  justice ;  that  now,  he  said,  there 
being  a  man,  not  a  soulless,  heartless  machine  in  control, 
he  could  hope  for  restoration  to  his  sword  and  regiment. 
But  Freeman  was  impulsive  as  he  was  unlucky.  Had 
he  known  his  father's  old  friend  a  little  better,  he  would 
have  known  exactly  what  to  expect.  Other  generals 
would  have  been,  and  others  were,  quick  to  avail  them- 
selves of  the  misfortune  or  wrongs  of  their  superiors,  se- 
cretly eager  to  accept  advancement  thus  to  be  gained. 

But  not  so  George  H.  Thomas-     He  knew  his  imme- 


1 62  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

diate  commander  was  right  and  his  innumerable  censors 
wrong.  He  refused  to  profit  by  Buell's  unmerited  dis- 
grace. Prompt,  sure,  and  unmistakable  flashed  his  pro- 
test to  Washington.  Twenty-four  hours  there  was  sus- 
pense, and  then  "revoke."  Once  again,  cold,  calm,  me- 
thodical, "Don  Carlos"  rode  at  the  head  of  the  army  he 
had  almost  made,  but  with  old  "Slow  Trot,"  sturdy  and 
unafraid,  announced  in  orders  as  second  in  command. 

There  was  no  time  then  to  go  to  the  bottom  facts  of  a 
subaltern's  distress.  Just  as  many  days  and  months  a 
general  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  had  beaten  his 
prison-bars  at  Fort  Lafayette,  pleading,  praying,  implor- 
ing trial  on  the  charges  brought  against  him,  if  charges 
of  any  kind  there  were,  and  the  iron  secretary  let  him 
plead  and  clamor  in  vain.  At  last,  in  mid-August,  with- 
out explanation  or  redress,  General  Charles  P.  Stone 
was  given  his  liberty,  but  neither  orders  nor  command. 
Somewhat  in  the  same  way,  in  mid-October,  there  came 
to  Lieutenant  Freeman  relief  from  further  attendance  at 
Louisville;  and,  without  the  faintest  explanation  as  to 
the  cause  of  his  summary  arrest  and  long  detention,  click- 
ing impatient  heels  before  strange,  unsympathizing,  and 
all-unknowing  staff  officials  at  the  rear,  our  disgusted, 
unheroic  hero  once  more  started  for  the  front  in  search 
of  his  old  regiment,  and  found  it  fresh  from  the  fight  at 
Perryville,  camped  as  part  of  Crittenden's  division,  not 
five  hundred  yards  from  where  he  last  had  seen  it,  on 
the  east  bank  of  the  west  fork,  within  view  of  Crab  Or- 
chard and  visiting  distance  of  The  Oaks. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"Ruddy"  Rolfe  was  a  much-disgusted  man.  "This 
regiment's  getting  too  damned  popular,"  was  the  ex- 
planation of  Lieutenant  and  Adjutant  Allis.  "No  gen- 
eral officer's  staff  is  complete  without  somebody  from 

the th  Illinois."  Six  of  its  subalterns  and  three  of 

its  captains  were  detailed  either  as  aides-de-camp,  assis- 
tant inspector-general,  ordnance  officer,  or  something  of 
that  kind,  and  for  long  months  Lieutenant  Freeman  had 
been  reported  "absent,  awaiting  trial,"  and  no  man  could 
surely  say  for  what  offense.  All  manner  of  rumors  had 
been  rife.  When  first  the  regiment  had  been  astounded 
by  the  story  of  his  arrest  and  shipment  to  Louisville, 
everybody  supposed  it  was  for  that  most  sensational  af- 
front to  Major  Cutler — in  the  presence  of  several  officers 
he  had  dared  to  slap  the  face  of  his  superior — but  before 
many  days  came  Freeman's  letter  begging  his  colonel  to 
do  something  to  get  him  out  of  durance  vile.  It  tran- 
spired that  no  charges  alleging  attack  upon  Cutler  were 
anywhere  on  file,  and  in  the  course  of  the  marching  on  to 
Corinth,  over  to  Chattanooga,  and  back  to  Kentucky,  his 
comrades  were  told  that  he  was  "wanted"  at  Louisville 
because  of  reports  to  the  effect  that  he  had  been  holding 
correspondence  with  the  enemy,  and  was  involved  in  the 
mysterious  making-off  with  the  horses  of  a  cavalry  patrol 
at  the  Morgan  place. 

Yet  Freeman  had  strenuously  denied  the  story,  and 


164  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

challenged  any  man  to  bring  proofs.  It  was  all,  he  de- 
clared, a  piece  of  persecution — Cutler's  doing — Cutler 
dared  not  bring  him  to  trial  for  slapping  Cutler's  face, 
for  then  Cutler's  words  that  led  to  the  deed  would  as- 
suredly be  told  under  oath,  and  Cutler's  usefulness  under 
Buell  would  as  assuredly  be  gone.  It  was  with  no  regret 
the  officers  of  the  former  Army  of  the  Ohio  learned  that 
Colonel  Cutler  had  been  transferred  to  the  Army  of  the 

Tennessee ;  the th  Illinois,  indeed,  were  glad  to  hear 

it  if  for  no  other  reason  than  the  fact  that  a  veteran,  yet 
little  respected,  soldier  was  transferred  at  the  same  time 
from  its  rolls — one  Private  James  O'Reilly,  of  Captain 
Manning's  company,  and,  as  had  at  last  been  learned,  a 
former  driver  in  Captain  Bragg's  famous  light  battery  of 
Buena  Vista  fame.  "Good  riddance !"  said  Manning. 
"He's  done  no  day  of  duty  with  the  company  since  the 
time  old  Cutler  took  him  riding  over  to  Morgans',  and 
then  got  him  detailed  as  orderly.  The  men  say  he  was 
hanging  around  Crab  Orchard  in  citizen's  dress  for 
weeks;  that  he  was  nothing  better  than  a  spy  of  some 
kind — doing  dirty  work  for  Cutler  among  the  homes  of 
Southern  families  thereabouts.  Now,  what's  he  going 
to  make  of  him  ?" 

So  far  as  officially  known,  Private  O'Reilly  had  been 

transferred   from  Company  "C,"  th  Illinois,  to  the 

general  service,  U.  S.  A.,  attached  to  department  head- 
quarters at  Louisville;  but  Colonel  Rolfe  had  satisfied 
himself  there  was  something  behind  it  all — something 
affecting  even  the  good  name  and  fame  of  General 
Thomas  himself — the  grave,  just,  dignified  soldier 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  165 

against  whom  his  heart  had  been  hardened  by  tales  that 
Rolfe  was  now  beginning  to  believe  were  told  for  that 
very  purpose. 

For  months  the  colonel  had  hardly  had  occasion  to  see 
or  speak  to  General  Thomas.  As  wing  commander,  the 
latter  had  "lost  touch" ;  as  second  in  command,  there  was 
even  less  occasion  for  Rolfe  to  meet  him ;  but,  when  Ned 
Freeman  came  bursting  in  upon  the  regiment,  after  the 
long  separation,  pale,  worn,  worried  looking,  but  full  of 
vehement  hate  and  fury  against  the  cold,  scheming  staff- 
officer,  and  damning  and  denouncing  him  and  all  his 
works,  for  very  shame  that  he  should  have  been  so  in- 
fluenced, Rolfe  shrank  from  the  subject.  It  was  his  duty, 
he  said,  to  acquaint  Freeman  with  the  fact  that  Cutler 
was  by  no  means  the  only  man  to  suspect  him  of  inter- 
course with  Southern  sympathizers,  and.  to  fear  for  him 
because  of  his  connection  with  that  mysterious  affair  at 
the  Claibornes',  and  that  still  more  mysterious  affair  of 
the  horses  at  The  Oaks.  Stoutly  Ned  Freeman  had  re- 
plied that  he  knew  no  more  than  did  his  colonel  of  what 
was  at  the  bottom  of  the  affray  which  he  had  interrupted 
at  the  Claibornes'.  His  theory,  he  said,  was  that  strag- 
glers had  assaulted  the  father,  or  perhaps  been  assaulted 
by  him  for  insult  to  his  daughter.  As  for  correspondence, 
or  dealing,  with  Southern  sympathizers,  Freeman  swore 
that  outside  of  that  absurd  challenge  from  the  lieutenant 
of  Zouaves,  he  had  had  but  one  communication  with,  or 
from,  any  man  in  the  Confederate  service,  and  General 
Thomas  knew  all  about  that.  There  were  family  mat- 
ters involved,  and  he  would  not  speak  of  them.  If  Gen- 


1 66  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

eral  Thomas  found  no  fault  with  what  he  had  done, 
there  was  no  reason  why  Colonel  Rolfe  should  blame. 
More  than  this,  Freeman  would  not  say. 

Yet  Freeman  had  greatly,  gravely  changed.  From  be- 
ing a  boyish,  big-hearted,  impulsive,  somewhat  harum- 
scarum  fellow,  as  the  regiment  knew  him  at  the  start,  he 
had  become  fitful,  nervous,  irritable  perhaps,  and  some- 
times moody.  What  was  stranger  in  the  eyes  of  Colonel 
Rolfe,  was  that,  for  five  days  following  his  return  to  the 
regiment,  he  sought  no  opportunity  to  visit  The  Oaks. 
On  that  fifth  day,  The  Oaks,  in  the  person  of  the  aging 
colonel,  came  to  visit  him. 

With  the  exquisite  punctilio  of  the  courtly  Virginian, 
Colonel  Morgan  had  first  paid  his  respects  to  the  regi- 
mental commander,  whom  he  had  entertained  at  dinner 
but  the  day  before,  and  had  presently  expressed  his  desire 
to  see  Lieutenant  Freeman.  As  luck  would  have  it,  Free- 
man was  not  at  his  tent.  They  met  suddenly  at  haphazard, 
and  every  man  who  saw  the  meeting,  saw  that  both 
men,  the  elder  and  the  youth,  were  visibly  moved  to  the 
verge  of  embarrassment.  Colonel  Morgan's  voice  shook, 
his  fine  face  quivered,  his  eyes  filled,  as  he  greeted  his 
young  friend  in  Union  blue,  and  Freeman  for  the  mo- 
ment could  hardly  speak  at  all.  Men  were  so  consid- 
erate as  to  look  away  when  this  was  noticed,  and  to  let 
them  confer  together.  They  walked  out  toward  the 
creek,  slowly  and  with  bowed  heads  and  downcast  eyes. 
They  were  gone  as  much  as  twenty  minutes,  and  then 
Freeman  escorted  his  visitor  to  the  old  carryall  he  knew 
so  well.  The  world  a  while  had  revolved  about  it  when 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  167 

Fanny  Morgan  sat  therein,  but  he  had  hardly  asked  for 
her.  "Now,  the  mother  would  have  come  herself,"  they 
heard  the  colonel  say  to  Freeman,  at  parting,  "but  I  per- 
suaded her  not  to  try  it.  She  is  not  too  strong  after — 
after  so  much  anxiety,  but  she  made  me  her  messenger  in 
begging  that  you  should  come  over  and  break  bread  with 
us  again.  Can  it  not  be  to-morrow?" 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can,  sir,"  began  the  junior,  in  em- 
barrassment ;  but  Rolf e  cut  him  short  with : 

"I'll  see  that  he  does,  Colonel  Morgan,"  which  seemed 
to  settle  it. 

And  so  once  again  Mr.  Freeman  found  himself  fording 
the  creek,  and,  after  a  few  minutes'  meditation  about  the 
charred  ruins  of  the  old  Claiborne  place,  slowly  breasting 
the  winding  road  that  led  through  the  timber  and  up 
to  the  heights  whereon  stood  The  Oaks.  Not  since  early 
springtime  had  he  set  eyes  on  Frances  Morgan ;  not  once 
had  he  heard  from  her,  nor  did  he  seek  a  meeting  now. 
An  aging,  anxious  woman,  far  from  strong,  had  begged 
of  him  that  he  would  come  to  see  her — Donald  Morgan's 
mother — that  she  might  thank  him  for  kindness  extended 
to  her  boy,  and,  though  Freeman  disclaimed  any  credit, 
and  declared  to  Colonel  Morgan  that  he  owed  more  to 
Donald  than  did  Donald  to  him,  the  mother's  wish  pre- 
vailed. The  regiment  might  move  at  any  moment,  and 
before  it  left  the  neighborhood  Mrs.  Morgan  longed  to 
see  him  once  again. 

Did  he  wish  to  see  Frances  Morgan?  His  heart  an- 
swered yes,  with  every  bit  of  it  in  the  answer.  Yet  that 
heart  was  angered  against  her;  so  much  angered  that 


1 68  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

he  wished  her  to  know  it,  and  to  ask  him  why.  If  what 
he  believed  or  what  he  told  himself  of  her  was  true,  he 
was  a  fool,  a  moth,  to  approach  her  again.  If  she  really 
cared  for  this  handsome,  daring,  young  Kentuckian,  her 
brother's  chum,  Jack  Barbour,  then  Freeman  frankly 
called  himself  an  ass. 

And  had  he  not  grave  reason  to  believe  she  cared  for 
him  ?  Rumor  long  had  linked  their  names.  Barbour 
was  of  excellent  family,  Don's  devoted  friend.  There 
was  that  to  start  with.  Then  came  that  romantic  mid- 
night meeting,  preceded  by  the  exchange  of  signals  at 
the  Helms',  the  coming  through  the  darkness  of  her  cava- 
lier, the  sound  of  her  stifled  sobbing — probably  in  his 
arms.  Then  followed  that  later  episode  at  the  home- 
place,  the  finding  of  the  letter,  the  warning  to  "J.  B./' 
and  finally  the  signal  through  the  down-pouring  rain,  the 
coming  of  the  searching  cavalry — searching  for  Confed- 
erate scouts,  Southern  sympathizers  in  the  garb  of  civil- 
ians, lurking  somewhere  within  our  lines;  the  sergeant's 
story  pointing  clearly  to  Donald  and  to  Donald's  friend. 
Then — the  meeting  in  the  orchard,  and,  the  message. 

Believing  as  he  did,  then,  that  neither  Barbour  nor 
Donald  had  yet  taken  up  arms  against  the  Union,  and 
might  yet  be  prevented  from  so  doing;  believing,  as  he 
had  right  to  believe,  that  Donald's  difference  with  his 
father  was  the  cause  of  his  alienation  from  home  and  kin- 
dred ;  believing,  as  he  did,  that  Donald  had  been  his  res- 
cuer the  night  of  that  blackguardly  business  at  Clai- 
bornes',  and  that  now  Donald  lay  crippled  and  in  hiding, 
Freeman  had  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  man  he  believed 


The    Rock  of  Chickamauga.  169 

to  be  his  successful  rival  the  letters  he  had  found,  the 
warning  slip  of  paper,  and  with  them  a  little  bag  of  gold 
coin,  a  dozen  treasured  eagles  his  mother  had  given  him 
to  be  used  in  emergency,  and  the  emergency  had  come, 
though  not  to  him,  but  to  Fanny  Morgan's  exiled 
brother. 

Quixotic  it  was,  perilous  to  his  own  name,  also,  and, 
as  it  turned  out,  perilous  to  the  Union  cause.  Barbour 
had  been  quick  to  profit  by  the  situation,  prompt  to  sum- 
mon the  aid  of  two  or  three  young,  would-be  Confed- 
erates, and  before  the  dawn  of  day  had  stolen  back  to 
The  Oaks  and  away  with  the  troopers'  horses.  There 
was  no  longer  question  then  as  to  whether  it  was  to  be 
the  blue  or  the  gray.  Within  twenty-four  hours  he  and 
his  little  party  had  threaded  devious  bridle-paths,  made 
their  way  to  the  Cumberland,  and  so  on  to  Tennessee, 
taking  Donald  Morgan  with  them,  leaving  no  word  and 
only  one  half-shod  horse — Don's  former  mount — by  way 
of  thanks  or  explanation.  Old  Hector  alone  had  met  Bar- 
bour on  his  second  coming,  and,  if  that  young  gentleman 
felt  gratitude  of  any  kind  toward  his  reputed  rival,  he 
took  an  odd  way  of  showing  it.  The  substance  of  the 
story  he  told  Hector,  if  once  proved,  could  have  sent 
Ned  Freeman  dso  to  Fort  Lafayette;  the  mere  shadow 
of  it  had  been  enough  to  send  him  to  the  rear  in  pre- 
sumable disgrace. 

And  now,  for  the  time  at  least,  these  venturesome 
young  bloods  were  eliminated  from  the  problem.  There 
were  two  officers  in  the  Southern  cavalry  who  had  come 
riding  northward  after  Shiloh,  whom  Colonel  Morgan 


170  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

refused  to  entertain  within  his  gates — Lieutenants  Don- 
ald Morgan  and  John  Marshall  Barbour.  "Both,"  said 
he,  "have  broken  faith,  and  one  of  them  has  taken  ungen- 
tlemanly  advantage  of  a  chivalric  enemy." 

No  wonder  the  mother's  face  was  worn  and  sad,  the 
aging  father's  older  and  grayer.  No  wonder  Ned  Free- 
man went,  reluctant  and  embarrassed.  He  might  yet  have 
found  means  to  avoid  the  meeting  with  the  mother,  had 
not  his  heart  so  longed  for  another  look  at  her  daughter. 
He  tried  to  tell  himself  it  was  because  he  wished  to  avoid 
Frances  Morgan  that  he  shrank  from  going,  but  that 
boyish  heart  gave  him  the  lie  direct.  He  would  have 
been  sorely  disappointed  had  he  not  seen  her,  whether  she 
cared  for  Jack  Barbour  or  not. 

But  for  over  an  hour  he  did  not  see  her.  It  was  Mrs. 
Morgan's  wish  to  have  a  long  talk  with  Donald's  pre- 
server, as  she  at  first  persisted  in  calling  him.  She  looked 
bewildered  when  he  disclaimed  the  title  and  declared  him- 
self Donald's  debtor  to  an  extent  exceeding  the  help  and 
hints  he  had  sent  him.  Neither  she  nor  Freeman  made 
the  faintest  reference  to  the  gold.  Very  possibly  Bar- 
bour had  failed  to  mention  that.  She  had  pictured  her 
brave  boy  as  in  peril  and  in  hiding,  the  victim  of  the 
machinations  of  that  major  with  the  mephistophelean 
face  and  ways,  he  who  had  come  prodding  and  poking 
and  questioning  all  the  servants  about  the  place,  and  set- 
ting that  horrid  man  of  his  to  plying  people  with  liquor. 
She  knew,  she  said,  that  Donald  would  never  have  dis- 
obeyed his  father  and  taken  up  arms  against  the  United 
States,  if  he  had  not  been  driven  to  it  by  these  persecu- 


The   Rock  of  Chickamauga.  171 

tions.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  affray  at  Claibornes'. 
If  Donald  were  really  wounded,  it  must  have  been  by 
some  of  the  major's  men  in  his  escape  from  their  brutal 
hands.  She  had  really  supposed  that  Mr.  Freeman  alone 
had  planned  and  executed  their  escape,  Jack  Barbour,  of 
course,  helping.  She  was  obviously  disappointed  to  hear 
from  his  lips  that  such  was  not  the  case,  and,  finding  that 
he  had  not  seen  Donald,  and  really  knew  next  to  nothing 
about  him,  the  mother's  heart  cooled  perceptibly.  She 
had  planned  and  executed  their  escape,  Jack  Barbour,  of 
least,  in  correspondence.  That  such  conduct  would  have 
been  next  to  treasonable  did  not  appeal  to  her.  How 
could  one  be  guilty  of  any  wrong  in  striving  to  befriend 
her  boy? 

And  so  the  hour  passed  heavily  for  both.  It  was  a  re- 
lief when  the  colonel  came  and  bore  him  away  to  lunch- 
eon, and  the  sight  of  Fanny  Morgan,  seated  in  her 
mother's  place,  and  as  she  rose  and  looked  up  in  his  face 
and  gave  him  her  slim,  white  hand,  his  resolution  oozed 
out  at  his  finger-tips,  for  in  the  lovely,  uplifted  eyes  he 
read  pain  at  his  altered  mien  and  formal  manner.  Pride 
and  resentment,  if  present  in  any  force,  had  been  routed 
by  the  sight  of  his  pallor — mute  evidence  of  suffering. 

And  so  it  pleased  her  to  be  shyly  sweet  to  him  all 
through  the  simple  meal,  nor  did  her  manner  vanish  with 
her  father  when,  with  his  own  hand,  he  bore  to  the  gentle 
invalid  such  dainties  as  they  could  then  command.  Hec- 
tor, in  shining,  service-worn  black,  and  immaculate  white 
neck-cloth,  followed  in  his  master's  train,  bearing  the  big, 


172  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

cut-glass  decanter ;  and  Ned  Freeman,  with  beating  heart, 
found  himself  at  last  alone  with  the  girl  whose  beauty 
had  enthralled  him. 

"Shall  we  go  into  the  parlor?"  she  faltered.  "You 
haven't  been  too — neighborly  of  late." 

He  followed  dumbly.  He  had  no  answer  ready.  In- 
deed, he  had  determined,  if  there  were  talk  of  any  kind, 
that  he  would  question.  He  meant  to  know  before  leav- 
ing her  again  whether  or  no  Mr.  Jack  Barbour  held  the 
key  to  her  heart ;  he  meant,  that  is,  if  straightforward, 
soldier  approaches  could  prevail.  He  was  no  adept  in  the 
art  of  dissimulation.  She  knew  when  she  looked  into  his 
somber,  young  face  just  what  it  could  not  hide,  and  the 
woman  in  her  prompted  her  to  test  forthwith. 

She  led  the  way  to  the  piano,  a  veteran  of  the  Chicker- 
ing  type,  much  favored  in  the  6o's,  but,  like  other  vet- 
erans, a  bit  the  worse  for  wear.  She  seated  herself  upon 
the  old-fashioned,  revolving  stool,  with  one  slippered 
foot  just  touching  the  pedals,  with  her  slender  fingers 
flitting  idly  over  the  keys ;  and,  sitting  there,  she  let  her 
soft  eyes  lift  themselves  through  their  long  lashes  to  his 
eager  gaze,  as  he  leaned  one  elbow  on  the  stack  of  sheet- 
music  to  her  left,  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  his  blue, 
but  clouded,  eyes  fixed  full  upon  her  flushing  face.  She 
was  trying  to  be  arch  and  unembarrassed,  but  it  was  far 
from  a  success.  She  knew  what  he  was  thinking.  She 
wondered  what  he  would  say. 

And  presently  it  came  : 

"You  say  I  have  not  been  neighborly  of  late.    Frankly, 


The  Rock  of  Chlckamauga.  173 


I  meant  to  keep  away.  I  was  far  too  frequent  a  visitor 
last  winter,  and  I  was  in  the  way — last  spring." 

The  long  lashes,  golden-brown,  far  deeper  in  shade 
than  her  sunny  hair,  swept  her  soft  cheeks.  There  was 
something  of  the  Fanny  of  the  year  agone  in  the  prompt 
and  unmistakable  toss  of  her  bonny  head : 

"Who's  way?" 

"Mr.  Jack  Barbour's,"  was  the  uncompromising 
answer. 

And  now  she  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  calmly,  de- 
liberately : 

"I  have  not  seen — or  spoken  to — Mr.  Barbour  since 
last  November." 

He  drew  back,  recoiling  from  her.  She  dared  to  trifle 
with  him,  then ;  to  sully  her  lips  with  a  lie  like  that.  His 
blue  eyes  flashed  with  sudden  anger;  his  elbow  dislodged 
the  stack  of  music  and  sent  it  fluttering  to  the  floor.  Both 
forms  bent  at  the  same  instant;  both  heads  bobbed  and 
came  together  with  a  bang.  He  had  merely  swooped 
to  recover  the  wreckage  caused  by  his  impetuous  start. 
She  had  quickly  bent,  almost  double,  to  seize  a  half-sheet 
that  fluttered  from  the  pile  of  music  to  the  floor.  She 
laughed,  almost  hysterically,  at  the  sudden  and  stunning 
contact.  He  set  his  teeth  and  swore — to  himself,  for,  face 
uppermost,  lay  the  first  of  the  songs,  "II  Bacio,"  with 
this  inscription  in  the  upper  corner:  "Frances  Morgan, 
from  J.  M.  B.,  Christmas,  1861." 

"Sent  it,  I  suppose,  by — the  same  messenger  you  sig- 
naled to  that  last  night  at  the  Helms';  in  other  words, 
himself." 


174  The  Hock  of  Chickamauga. 

For  one  moment  the  color  left  her  face;  then  came 

back  with  a  rush. 

"Mr.  Freeman,"  said  Frances  Morgan,  "that  is  insult !" 
His  answer  was  to  take  one  long  look  into  her  blazing 

eyes ;  then  he  turned  in  silence  and  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Solemn  days  had  come  again  to  the  seasoned  "Army 
of  the  Ohio."  However  much  it  had  chafea  against  the 
cold,  stern  disciplinarian  at  its  head,  it  learned  at  Shiloh 
the  value  of  his  training,  for  the  admirable  order  and 
precision  in  its  ranks  were  the  observed  of  all  observers, 
winning  even  reluctant  praise  from  its  rivals  of  the  Ten- 
nessee. Then  had  come  their  further  hardening  in  the 
long  tramp  to  Chattanooga,  and  back  to  Louisville.  They 
were  in  splendid  trim  at  Perryville,  and  could  have  given 
Bragg  a  trouncing  had  the  commander  himself,  the  cen- 
ter and  right,  been  made  aware  of  what  was  going  on  at 
the  far  left,  where  storming  McCook  was  trying,  all  un- 
aided, to  beat  off  a  whole  army.  Even  as  matters  stood, 
Bragg  was  glad  to  get  away  and  hie  him  back  to  the  Ten- 
nessee, with  his  own  army  hot  in  its  criticism,  and  Ken- 
tucky furious  at  his  slurs.  "The  State  wasn't  worth 
fighting  for,"  he  declared,  as  he  left  it  for  the  last  time, 
leaving  Buell  in  control  of  the  ground,  but  not,  alas!  of 
the  situation. 

That  had  become  vested  in  Halleck.  He  had  fretted 
Buell  after  Shiloh.  He  had  ordered  him  hither  and  yon. 
He  had  pursued  him  with  orders  after  quitting  the  West 
and  going  to  Washington.  He  had  rebuked  him  for  not 
fighting  when  Bragg  couldn't  be  got  to  fight.  He  had 
criticized  him  as  slow,  lame,  reluctant,  when  Thomas 
knew  he  was  burning  with  energy  and  brimful  of  fight. 


176  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

He  had  relieved  him  from  command  in  the  heart  of  the 
campaign  and  restored  him  only  when  Thomas  refused 
to  take  his  place.  And  now  he  mapped  for  him  an  im- 
possible move  against  an  ephemeral  enemy  two  hundred 
mountain-miles  to  the  east,  and  when  Buell  said  it 
couldn't  be  done,  as  possibly  Halleck  expected,  sent  or- 
ders relieving  him  for  good  and  for  all,  and,  knowing 
full  well  that  Thomas,  second  in  command,  seconded  his 
commander's  views,  went  utterly  outside  the  Army  of 
the  Ohio  to  find  it  a  commander,  and  sent  to  it  a  brave, 
scientific  leader,  yet  one  they  knew  nothing  of.  "Over- 
slaughed" again,  but  subordinate  and  loyal  as  ever,  more 
loyal  than  many  a  man  never  accused  of  disloyalty, 
Thomas  lowered  his  sword  in  salute  to  Rosecrans,  and  in 
the  new  Department  and  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  took 
station  as  head  of  the  center,  with  McCook  and  Critten- 
den  commanding  the  wings. 

This  was  in  late  October,  the  second  year  of  the  war. 
Already  the  government  at  Washington  had  begun  to 
question  its  own  wisdom  in  this  method  of  selection.  The 
happiest  results  in  the  army  in  Virginia  had  not  followed 
the  transfer  to  the  East  of  Pope  and  Halleck  from  the 
Army  of  the  West.  Now,  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland 
was  bidden  to  follow  this  new  commander  from  an  al- 
most alien  department.  If  it  for  the  moment  faltered,  it 
was  never  known.  The  example  of  the  senior  among  its 
generals  banished  thought  of  that  propensity  for  speaking 
his  mind  that  is  the  birthright  of  the  out-and-out  Ameri- 
can. Under  Buell  the  Army  of  the  Ohio  had  learned  dis- 
cipline. Under  Thomas,  it  doubly  learned  loyalty,  and 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  177 

now,  as  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  it  set  forth  obe- 
diently, yet  reservedly,  under  the  soldier  they  were  des- 
tined so  soon  to  greet  with  lavish  enthusiasm,  to  hail  de- 
lightedly as  "Old  Rosy." 

Speedily  the  reorganization  went  on,  and  the  army 
marched  again  for  Nashville,  with  Bragg  and  his  regath- 
ering  clans  somewhere  in  middle  Tennessee.  And  now 

came  new  affiliations  for  " Ruddy"  Rolfe  and  the  th 

Illinois,  new  associations  for  Lieutenant  Edgar  Freeman. 
Brigaded  with  other  regiments  of  their  own  State,  the 
senior  colonel  in  command,  'The  Children  of  Israel" 
found  themselves  after  a  time  in  a  division  of  apprecia- 
tive yet  hard-headed  volunteer  soldiers  from  their  own 
Stale,  commanded  by  one  Brigadier-general  John  M. 
Palmer,  "a  war  Democrat,  sir,"  whose  principal  griev- 
ance up  to  date  had  been  that  he  had  no  chance  to  hit  a 
fellow  of  his  own  size  on  the  other  side.  Rosecrans 
smiled  when  told  of  it,  and  said  he  thought  General  Pal- 
mer's time  was  coming.  Not  much  did  the  new  division 
commander  know  of,  or  care  for,  drill  or  parade ;  not 
much,  for  that  matter,  did  the  old  colonel  commanding 
the  brigade.  The  show  figure  of  the  division,  albeit  one 
of  its  junior  colonels,  was  undoubtedly  "Ruddy"  Rolfe, 
and  his  was  its  "dandy"  regiment. 

But  not  as  yet  had  the  th  had  to  bear  the  test  of 

serious  battle.  It  had  missed  Mill  Springs,  as  has  been 
told ;  it  was  too  far  to  the  right  at  Perryville  to  be  heavily 
engaged,  and  there  were  those  who  thought  it  safe  to  twit 
it  with  senseless  queries  as  to  whether  the  feather  they 
showed  in  their  first  fight  would  be  as  white  as  their 


iyB  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

gloves.  That  it  was  unsafe  was  demonstrated  in  the 
most  unhappy  way  the  December  night  they  got  the  news 
that  their  popular  division  commander  had  been  nomi- 
nated to  the  double  stars,  and  a  number  of  officers  gath- 
ered at  General  Palmer's  headquarters  to  extend  con- 
gratulations. 

It  so  happened  that  Allis,  regimental  adjutant,  was 
down  with  a  fever,  and  that  Ned  Freeman  was  acting  in 
his  stead.  "You've  steadied  so  much  this  year,  I  think 
you  can  stand  it,"  was  what  Rolfe  said  to  his  tall  sub- 
altern, in  making  the  appointment.  He  wondered  what 
on  earth  could  have  happened  to  make  that  once  exu- 
berant lad  so  preternaturally  grave.  He  knew  that  the 
long  arrest,  and  most  unjust  accusations,  had  done  very 
much  to  sober  him,  but  Freeman  seemed  abnormally  sol- 
emn much  of  the  time,  and  could  neither  be  cheered  nor 
laughed  out  of  it.  Moreover,  laughing  was  injudicious 
treatment,  as  Captain  Manning  had  discovered.  Rolfe 
shrewdly  suspected  that  the  course  of  Freeman's  wooing 
had  been  far  from  smooth,  and  was  prone  to  credit  to 
Fanny  Morgan's  coquetry  much  of  his  acting  adjutant's 
solemnity. 

Now,  to  the  surprise  of  his  brother  officers,  Freeman 
had  thrown  himself  into  his  new  duties  with  vim  quite 
equal  to  the  expected  ease  and  grace.  There  had  come 
to  him  from  that  fond  mother  in  the  East  a  very  beautiful 
silken  sash,  of  a  somewhat  brighter  hue  than  the  dull 
purplish  crimson  worn  by  most  officers  when  the  sash 
was  worn  at  all.  "It  sort  o'  killed  the  rest  of  his  outfit," 
said  Rawson,  for  Freeman  sent  back  to  Louisville  for  a 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  179 

new  belt  and  sword,  and  the  evening  the  officers  gathered 
at  Palmer's  marquee,  Rolfe  and  his  adjutant  were  con- 
spicuous by  the  fact  that  each  wore  his  side-arms,  and 
was  handsomely  girthed  in  the  regulation  equipments. 
There  was  some  smiling,  and  later,  in  a  staff-officer's 
tent,  more  smiling  of  another  kind — a  colloquialism  of 
the  day  for  a  drink  being  a  "smile" — and  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Kentucky  corn- juice  a  certain  few  became 
satirical,  and  an  envious  fellow  colonel  saw  fit  to  trifle 
with  the  auburn-haired  young  chief  of  "The  Children  of 
Israel." 

It  was  a  hapless  inspiration.  Rolfe  had  been  properly 
shocked  six  months  before  when  told  his  subaltern  had 
slapped  the  face  of  a  staff-officer.  To-night  he  had  taken 
one  very  mild  sip  when  they  drank  the  general's  health, 
but  that  was  all.  In  the  modified  revelry  that  followed 
he  had  had  no- part.  He  was  standing  outside  in  the 
frosty  moonlight  as  the  party  broke  up,  and  the  orderlies 
were  coming  up  with  the  horses,  Rolfe's  handsome  chest- 
nut sorrel  among  the  foremost,  and  then  it  was  that  the 
colonel  of  the  "Cornstalks"  stepped  forward. 

"Look  at  Rolfe,"  he  shouted,  "red  head,  red  horse,  red 
ribbon — why,  you'd  think  him  the  most  sanguinary  cuss 
in  the  whole  division!  Only  kind  of  red  he's  seen  since 
the  war  began !" 

He  had  forgotten  Bull  Run  and  the  fighting  light  bat- 
tery. Two  officers  tried  to  hush  the  idiot,  but  he  was 
big,  burly,  and  in  evil  mood  when  Rolfe  turned  and  faced 
him. 

"Twice  before,  to-night,  Colonel  Bostwick,"  said  he, 


180  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"you  have  been  offensively  personal.  Now,  I'll  hear  your 
apology." 

"Apology?     Apollozhy!     You  go  to  hell!" 

The  blow  that  followed  sent  Bostwick  down  like  a  log; 
so  quick,  so  sudden,  that  no  man  had  time  to  interpose; 
so  stunning  that  the  surgeons  had  their  hands  full  for  the 
next  half-hour.  "He  or  any  friend  of  his  knows  where 
to  find  me,"  said  Rolfe,  as  he  mounted  and  rode  away, 
Freeman  exultingly  following.  The  general,  busy  within 
the  tent  with  his  departing  guests,  saw  nothing  of  it,  and 
not  until  morning  did  he  hear.  Then  Thomas  himself 
came  riding  by  and  beckoned  the  division  commander  to 
a  quiet  word  aside. 

It  was  one  of  his  ways,  and  a  capital  way,  that  of 
seeing  and  conferring  with  his  juniors  as  he  rode  their 
lines.  Other  commanders,  many  of  them,  adopted  the  plan 
of  sitting  in  state  at  headquarters  and  requiring  their 
subordinates  to  report  in  person  and  there  to  listen  to 
oracular  words.  But  not  so  Thomas.  Slow  of  movement 
he  might  be,  but  he  moved.  He  rode  from  camp  to  camp, 
saw  for  himself  the  condition  of  his  men,  and  spoke  on 
the  spot  to  their  officers,  and  this  wintry  morning  he  had 
stopped  to  speak  to  Palmer. 

How  he  heard  of  it  no  man  at  the  moment  could  say, 
but  heard  of  it  he  had.  "You  are  acquainted  with  most  of 
your  Illinois  officers,"  said  he,  "and  best  know  how 
Colonel  Bostwick  is  regarded  at  home.  There  was  a 
fracas  last  night  which  your  staff  very  naturally  have 
tried  to  keep  from  your  knowledge.  You  will  find,  I 
think,  that  Colonel  Bostwick  was  the  aggressor  through- 


Thfe  Rock  of  Chickamaiiga.  181 

oiit,  and  that  he  brolight  punishment  on  himself.  If  the 
rriatter  cortles  officially  to  the  knowledge  of  General  Rosfc- 
crans,  Colonel  Bostwick  will  probably  get  more.  Suppose 
you  suggest  to  him  that  he  would  be  wise  to  accept  the 
situation  as  it  is." 

And  Bostwick,  who  had  been'  led  away  to  his  canvas 
home  by  night,  arid  a  brace  of  staff-officers,  thundering 
denunciations  of  Rolfe  arid  his  determination  to  have  his 
heart's  blood  ill  the  morning,  woke  with  his  head  "hi  a 
slitig,"  as  the  doctor  expressed  it,  and  a  craving  for  ven- 
geance and  cool  drink.  It  Was  still,  at  lengthening  inter- 
vals, a  custom  to  settle  such  affairs  as  Shields  and 
Lincoln  Would  once  have  settled  theirs,  feostwick  was 
for  despatching  seconds  to  Colonel  Rolfe,  in  the  camp  of 
the  other  brigade,  btit  while  he  was  formulating,  for  his 
reluctant  witnesses,  the  demand  for  satisfaction,  there 
came  orders  for  the  colonel  with  his  regiment  to  proceed 
at  once  on  reconnaissance.  "It  will  cool  him  off  quicker 
than  anything  I  krtdw  of,'*  said  Palmer  as  he  sent  them. 
Bostwick  had  lost  much  of  his  craving  for  personal  com- 
bat before  he  got  back,  and  more  of  it  went  when  his 
adjutant  learned  that  Rolfe  was  a  masterly-  shot  with  the 
newfangled  "Colt's  navy."  The  last  of  it  vanished  with 
return  from  reconnaissance,  and  a  story  awaiting  him  that 
arrest  and  court-martial  were  contemplated  because  of  tils 
drunken  misbehavior  at  the  general's  reception.  He  sent 
toord  to  Rolfe  that  he'd  "square  with  him  later  when 
there  might  riot  be  so  many  generals  to  back  him,"  and 
Rolfe  knew  Well  he  had  won  another  enemy,  One  both 
secret  and  venomous. 


The  Kocic  of  Chickamauga. 


Not  a  word  did  Thomas  say  or  send  to  Colonel 
"Ruddy."  He  left  matters  in  the  hands  of  the  division 
commander  and  went  his  way,  but  later  that  day  in  riding 
the  lines  he  came  upon  Freeman,  busily  coaching  a  class 
of  non-commissioned  officers  in  the  new  Casey  tactics, 
and,  sitting  in  saddle,  as  was  his  wont,  erect  and  firm, 
his  head  well  up  and  back,  his  boot-toes  well  in  toward 
his  charger's  shoulders,  the  general  stopped  to  listen. 
Freeman  and  his  big  class  arose  and  faced  their  honored 
leader  until  bidden  to  resume,  and  when  the  brief  lecture 
was  over  the  general  called  the  subaltern  aside. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  so  useful  and  zealous,"  said  he. 
"Twice  I've  thought  of  assigning  you  to  staff  duty,  but  it 
would  have  harmed  you  in  the  regiment.  After  your 
long  absence  it  was  best  you  should  win  your  way  among 
them.  Later  I  shall  need  to  see  you  again,  early  in  the 
new  year,  perhaps.  My  regards  to  Colonel  Rolfe,  and  to 
your  mother  when  you  write." 

And  then  slowly,  thoughtfully,  observantly  the  general 
rode  away,  a  single  orderly  jogging  as  his  retinue,  and 
Freeman  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  wondering  why  it 
was  that  Rolfe  held  aloof  and  avoided  him,  as  avoid  he 
certainly  did. 

It  came  in  a  day  or  two.  They  had  set  forth  for  Nash- 
ville and  were  trudging  southeastward  along  the  pike. 
There  was  soldier  music  in  the  air,  the  occasional  boom 
of  distant  gun,  the  spatter  of  frequent  musketry  far  to 
the  front.  They  were  pushing  Bragg's  outposts  back  on 
the  line,  and  with  every  hour  drawing  nearer  to  the  bank, 
of  the  icy  little  river  where  it  was  rumored  the  Con- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  183 

federates  were  in  force  and  waiting  their  coming.  To 
Rolfe's  impatient  soul  it  was  galling  to  be  held  in  column 
so  far  from  the  spirited  work  in  advance,  but  the  brigade 
commander,  a  stolid,  phlegmatic,  elderly  colonel,  bade 
him  bide  his  time,  there'd  be  righting  enough  for  all 
hands  in  a  day  or  two.  It  was  getting  to  be  the  fag-end 
of  December.  The  home  folk  had  been  anxiously  observ- 
ing Christmas  and  watching  the  news  from  the  front. 
The  Army  of  the  Cumberland  had  hardly  observed 
Christmas  at  all.  It  was  suffering  to  get  at  its  old  antag- 
onist, Bragg,  and  at  last,  one  dark  wintry  evening,  the 
men  from  Illinois  found  themselves  plodding  into  posi- 
tion in  a  comparatively  open  field,  with  clumps  of  cedars 
to  their  right  and  rear,  and  squads  of  pioneer  troops  and 
engineers  hacking  at  the  banks  of  a  half-flooding,  half- 
freezing  stream,  flowing  away  in  many  a  meander  to- 
ward the  northwest,  and  presently  they  were  bidden  to 
halt  and  were  aligned  facing  southeast,  with  the  turnpike 
and  the  railway  running  diagonally  across  their  front, 
side  by  side,  yet  gradually  edging  away  from  each  other 
as  they  approached  the  roofs  and  spires  of  a  country  town 
some  three  miles  away.  Barely  a  short  mile  distant  stood 
a  little  bunch  of  low  heights,  with  cedars  clinging  to  their 
rocky  sides,  and  fresh-turned  earth  scarring  and  seaming 
the  flanks.  Between  the  bivouac  and  the  river  a  line  of 
skirmishers,  in  light-blue  overcoats,  well  forward  in  the 
low  ground,  were  popping  occasionally  at  certain  other 
dots  of  skirmishers  along  the  opposite  bank,  and  there, 
said  bearded  General  Negley,  whose  division  had  halted 
just  a  few  hundred  yards  farther  on — there,  on  those 


184  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

low  heights,  was  posted  a  whole  division  in  Confederate 
gray,  with  black-mouthed  cannon  peering  out  from  among 
the  cedars,  and  a  big  brigade  of  cavalry  behind  them  in 
support,  and  that,  said  the  general,  was  the  right  of  the 
rebel  line  and  the  rest  of  it,  crossing  to  our  side  of  the 
river,  extended  southward,  as  far  as  you  could  see,  and 
farther,  perhaps,  for  whenever  McCook  poked  a  battalion 
in  search,  it  stirred  up  a  brigade.  "This  time  Bragg  can't 
get  away  without  a  fight,"  said  Negley  to  his  brother 
division  commander,  and  Palmer,  looking  along  the  line 
of  his  silent  men,  rather  thought  so  too.  He  would  not 
have  thrown  up  so  many  earthworks  if  he  had  merely 
stopped  over  for  a  day  or  so. 

The  night  came  down  with  hundreds  of  little  cook-fires, 
starting  southward  through  the  cedars,  and  sparkling 
away  to  the  north,  far  beyond  the  ford  and  slashing 
where  the  engineers  had  been  at  work,  far  beyond  the 
right  of  the  rebel  lines,  and  far  south,  said  a  staff-officer 
who  rode  in  two  hours  later  and  swapped  greeting  with 
Rolfe — "far  south  of  McCook's  right.  It's  some  foxy 
trick  of  old  Rosy's,"  said  he,  "to  make  Bragg  think  we're 
that  big."  Then  he  added  a  word  Freeman  heard  with 
rejoicing  and  Rolfe  with  clouding  brow : 

"I  s'pose  you  know  you're  to  be  under  Thomas?" 

"How  so?"  asked  the  colonel  quickly.  "We're  part  of 
the  left  wing  yet." 

"You  were,"  was  the  answer,  "but  to-morrow  you'll  be 
-luckier." 

Rolfe  stood  moodily  by  the  little  camp-fire,  following 
the  aide  with  his  eyes  Until  he  was  lost  in  the  darkness. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  185 

Then  he  turned  to  Freeman,  and  Freeman  could  stand  it 
no  longer. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  what  it  is  you  don't  like  in 
General  Thomas/'  he  bluntly  said. 

"I  wish  you'd  tell  me  what  General  Thomas  doesn't 
like  in  me/'  was  the  blunt  rejoinder. 

"He  told  me  he  thought  most  highly  of  you,"  said 
Freeman  stoutly. 

"Then  why  did  he  euchre  me  out  of  the  chance  at  Mill 
Springs?  He  advised  General  Buell  to  send  me  to  the 
Big  Sandy.  Colonel  Cutler  saw  the  letter." 

"That's  more  than  you  did,  colonel,"  was  the  sturdy 
answer,  "and  all  you  know  of  the  letter  is  what  that  fellow 
told  you.  There's  a  lie  somewhere,  and  I  know  where  to 
place  it!" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

That  was  a  solemn  night  to  many  a  man  in  Palmer's 
division.  The  word  had  gone  whispering  along  from  file 
to  file  that  they  were  to  breakfast  at  dawn  and  be  ready 
for  business  very  soon  thereafter.  All  night  long  the 
sparks  went  whirling  aloft  from  the  watch-fires,  fresh  fed 
with  cedar  boughs.  All  night  long  the  axes  rang  in  the 
cedar  thickets,  where  lanes  were  being  hewed  for  the  bat- 
teries, that  the  guns  might  be  hauled  to  their  assigned 
positions — lanes  none  too  broad  for  guns  handled  lei- 
surely and  in  safety  in  rear  of  the  interposing  infantry, 
and  far  too  narrow  and  crooked  for  guns  that  might  be 
coming  back  in  disorderly  haste,  with  fire-flashing  lines 
behind  them.  All  night  long  some  men  and  many  offi- 
cers sat  up  or  moved  restlessly  about,  while  others  lay 
sleepless  in  their  blankets,  thinking  God  alone  could  say 
of  what — the  solemn  thoughts  that  come  to  men  when  the 
hostile  line  is  lying  but  rifle-shot  away,  and  the  shock  of 
battle  must  be  coming  with  the  dread  to-morrow. 

At  midnight,  as  Freeman  dozed,  with  his  feet  to  the 
fire  and  his  cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes,  a  low  voice 
was  heard  close  at  hand.  "Is  Colonel  Rolfe  sleeping?" 
Rolfe  himself  was  up  in  an  instant  to  say  no.  A  little 
knot  of  horsemen  dismounted.  Two  shadowy  forms  came 
forward  into  the  firelight.  Freeman  knew  the  leader  at  a 
glance,  rolled  out  of  his  blanket,  and  stumbled  to  his  feet. 
It  was  Rosecrans,  with  a  single  aide. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  187 

"General  Palmer  was  sleeping,"  said  he  to  Rolfe,  "and 
you  were  the  next  man  I  thought  of.  They  tell  me  up  to 
your  right,  among  Sheridan's  people,  that  the  pickets 
could  distinctly  hear  sounds  as  of  guns  and  troops  being 
marched  southward.  It  simply  cannot  be  that  Bragg  is 
making  off.  Have  your  outposts  heard  anything?" 

"Not  a  sound,  general.  We  hold  the  ground  out  there 
in  front  of  the  Cowen  place,  but — General  Sheridan's 
lines  are  closer,  very  much  so.  Those  are  strong  works 
they  have  thrown  up  both  sides  of  the  railway.  It  doesn't 
look  as  though  they  would  quit.  There  may  be  another 
explanation." 

"That  they  are  massing  opposite  our  right?"  queried 
the  general,  with  a  quick,  keen  glance.  "Yes,  I  had 
thought  of  that,  and  I  don't  much  regret  it.  You  see  it 
weakens  their  right  and  center  just  where  our  attack  is  to 
fall.  Van  Cleve  and  Wood  cross  as  soon  as  it  is  light. 
There  is  only  one  division  over  there  to  bar  the  way. 
They  should  be  whirling  the  rebs  right  into  Murfreesboro 
by  seven  o'clock,  and  then  we've  got  the  rest  of  the  line 
enfiladed  and  outflanked." 

Rolfe  listened  in  respectful  silence.  Something  he  had 
heard,  much  earlier  in  the  evening,  of  McCook's  unpro- 
tected line,  extending  southward  through  the  cedars. 
No  cavalry  "feeling"  out  beyond  him.  No  division  facing 
southward  in  case  the  overlapping  lines  in  gray  should 
suddenly  take  the  initiative,  as  those  surprising  graybacks 
had  been  known  to  do,  and  come  sweeping  and  swinging 
round  our  right,  just  a  little  before  we  began  stirring 
things  at  their  opposite  flank.  Something  Rolfe  had 


The  Rock  of  Chickarnaiiga'. 


heard  of  comment  or  criticism  as  to  McCobk's  position 
and  of  McCook's  overconfidence.  McCook  had  been 
asked  if  he  didn't  think  he  otight  to  face  more  to  the 
south,  and  if  there  was  anything  McCook  hated  it  was  to 
be  asked  if  he  ought  not  to  be  doing  somethirig  other 
than  what  he  was  doing.  McCook  had  his  three  fine 
divisions  lining  a  low  ridge,  overlooking  some  low 
ground  across  which  were  the  Confederate  works,  barely 
five  hundred  yards  intervening,  just  the  place  to  smash 
them  if  they  straddled  those  works  and  came  out  againsi 
him,  which  was  all  very  true  provided  they  came  at  hirii 
only  in  that  way,  and  at  the  appointed  time.  Hold  therri  ? 
Of  course  he  could  hold  them — keep  them  busy  as  the 
devil  in  a  blizzard,  and  Rosecrans,  Ohio-borri  himself 
knowing  full  well  the  fighting  blood  of  the  McCooks;  and 
fearing  to  wound  the  dauntless  but  sensitive  spirit  of  his 
right  wing  commander,  had  left  nlatters  in  his  hands: 
The  right  would  take  care  of  itself,  said  McCook  (It  was 
the  left  that  tried  to  take  care  of  itself  at  Perryville,  much 
to  its  cost) ,  and  as  the  blow  was  to  be  dealt  from  the  left; 
from  Crittenden's  wing,  thither  the  commafidef  betodk 
himself  that  all  might  start  fair  in  the  morfilhg. 

All  day  long  of  the  thirtieth  Bragg  had  been  expectirig 
attack  in  force.  All  day  long  of  the  thirtieth  Rosecrans 
had  been  busy  getting  his  brigades  up  from  the  rear  and 
in  position  at  the  front.  If  Bragg  wished  to  attack;  the 
time  to  try  it  was  before  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland 
was  "good  and  ready."  As  he  had  let  the  opportunity 
pass,  it  was  fair  to  assume,  said  certain  of  the  Union 
generals,  that  he  preferred  to  await  attack.  Therefore, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamaua. 


they  might  rest  on  their  arms  until  Old  Rosy  called  them 
up  with  orders  to  go  in.  But  there  were  certain  other 
generals,  born  in  Virginia  and  the  West,  who  knew 
Bragg,  or  had  studied  Southern  methods,  and  these  were 
uneasy.  The  orders  to  the  corps  commanders,  given  at 
o  P.  M.,  were  clear  and  spirited,  the  very  thing  to 
insure  victory,  provided  Bragg  stayed  just  where  he  was. 
Surely  two  such  divisions,  and  leaders,  as  Van  Cleve  and 
Wood  ought  to  whip  one  out  of  that  position.  Then  the 
halteries  could  crown  the  abandoned  heights,  enfilade  the 
length  of  the  Confederate  line  to  the  south,  and  the  rest 
was  easy.  Breakfast  at  dawn  and  battle  at  seven,  were 
Old  Rosy's  final  orders.  Breakfast  by  dark  and  pitch  in 
at  dawn,  were  Bragg's.  And  so  it  happened  as  the  gray 
light  of  the  last  day  of  a  dismal  year  came  stealing 
through  the  cedars,  and  the  men  of  Palmer's  division 
clustered  about  their  cook-fires,  there  was  laughter  at 
the  words  of  a  courier  riding  by  from  the  right :  "Sheri- 
dan's fellows  have  been  standing  to  arms  for  the  last  two 
hours,"  but  the  merriment  ceased  when  a  staff-officer  told 
the  colonel  that  Thomas  had  been  up  and  anxiously 
watching  ever  since  four  o'clock.  It  was  nearing  broad 
daylight,  and  word  came  from  down  the  stream  to  the 
left  that  the  head  of  Van  Cleve's  column  was  just  at  the 
ford,  when  afar  to  the  right,  to  the  south,  there  arose 
sudden  sound  of  fray.  "Damn  it!"  cried  Palmer. 
"That's  McCook  all  over.  He's  pitching  in  by  himself 
and  spoiling  the  plan  of  battle !" 

Rolfe,  occupied  with  his  holster  at  the  moment,  an- 
swered by  swinging  quickly  into  saddle  and  reining  up 


190  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

beside  his  division  commander.  "Listen  a  moment,"  said 
he,  and,  all  about  them,  armed  and  bearded  men  stood 
watching  their  leaders  with  eager  eyes  and  lending  at- 
tentive ears.  From  scattered  shots  to  crashing  volley  the 
change  was  almost  immediate;  then  came  the  boom  of 
artillery ;  then  heavier  volleying. 

For  a  moment  longer  Rolfe  sat,  a  silent  listener,  his 
face  eloquent  of  keen  excitement.  There  is  something 
thrilling  in  the  first  sound  of  combat — something  that 
sets  the  pulse  to  sudden  throb  and  kindles  the  latent  fire 
in  the  soldier's  eyes.  But  this — this  sound  told  a  tale  un- 
locked for  and  alarming,  and  along  the  forming  line  of 
"thinking  bayonets"  the  effect  was  marked.  Seven 
o'clock  was  the  hour  set,  and  our  extreme  left  the  place 
for  the  opening  chorus.  What  could  it  mean  that,  too 
early  by  half  an  hour  and  far  to  the  opposite  flank,  the 
attack  had  begun  ?  "McCook  all  over,"  repeated  Palmer, 
in  the  excitement  and  wrath  of  the  moment.  Rolfe  shook 
his  head. 

"Look  there !"  said  he. 

Instinctively,  at  sound  of  the  distant  crashing,  the  men 
clustered  about  the  cook-fires  had  hurriedly  finished  their 
steaming,  'soldier  coffee ;  slung  the  battered  tin  mugs,  and 
started  for  the  line  of  stacked  muskets,  never  needing  the 
word  "fall  in";  but  this  movement,  too,  had  ceased,  and, 
one  group  after  another,  by  dozens,  the  soldiery  stopped 
in  their  tracks,  turned,  and  gazed  toward  the  rear.  There 
on  a  little  rise  among  the  cedars,  barely  one  hundred 
yards  back  of  the  line,  a  horseman  had  shot  into  view  and 
stood  revealed  against  the  gray  western  sky. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  191 

Motionless,  bareheaded,  he  sat,  his  strong,  stalwart  form 
erect  and  high  in  saddle,  his  head  high  held,  the  fine,  yet 
massive  features  absolutely  calm,  yet  commanding.  "The 
lion  at  gaze/'  thought  Rolfe,  as  he  studied  him,  horse  and 
rider  both  intent  upon  those  ominous  sounds  of  battle  at 
the  south.  Magnificent  was  the  pose  of  the  charger,  his 
head  in  air,  his  ears  erect,  his  nostrils  snuffing  the  breeze. 
Magnificent  in  its  utter  unconsciousness  was  the  pose  of 
the  rider,  as,  hat  in  hand,  he  sat  there,  a  living  monument 
on  its  cedar-bristling  pedestal,  deaf  to  all  about  him, 
listening  only  to  that  rumbling  thunder  of  coming  storm. 

It  was  Thomas  himself,  alone,  yet  in  the  midst  of  his 
devoted  men,  the  smoke  from  their  camp-fires  rising  like 
incense  about  him,  the  cynosure  of  every  soldier  eye 
within  range,  the  strong  heart  on  whom  reposed  the  trust 
of  the  commanding  general,  the  stanch  leader  in  whom 
was  vested  the  guidance  and  control  of  the  center  of  the 
Union  lines. 

One  moment  more  he  waited,  motionless,  listening,  and 
then,  borne  on  the  breeze,  rising  and  falling  like  the  wolf 
chorus  of  the  far  frontier,  the  crash  of  the  volleying  was 
swelled  by  a  new  sound,  the  exultant,  unmistakable  yell 
of  the  martial  sons  of  the  Southland,  the  war-cry  of  char- 
ging battalions  in  gray.  "McCook  all  over,"  indeed! 
More  like  it  was  all  over  with  McCook. 

And  Thomas  read  the  sign  aright.  A  quick  gesture, 
and  another  horseman  spurred  up  to  his  side,  marked  the 
direction  of  the  gauntleted  hand,  now  pointing  northeast- 
ward to  the  fords,  then  whirled  his  horse  about  and  shot 
out  of  sight  through  the  trees.  It  was  Thomas  sending 


192  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

instant  word  to  Rosecrans  that  his  move  was  too  late. 
Before  a  single  trigger  had  snapped  at  the  left,  by  divi- 
sion front,  one  could  tell  now  by  the  volume  of  sound, 
Bragg  had  turned  our  unwary  right  and  was  coming 
crashing  through  the  brakes,  overwhelming  all  before 
him.  "McCook  all  over,"  indeed!  So  far  from  attack- 
ing, "all  by  himself,"  as  Palmer  in  his  petulant  wrath 
would  have  it,  all  by  himself  McCook  was  meeting  again, 
as  he  had  at  Perryville,  the  force  and  fury  of  Bragg's 
vicious  and  tremendous  onset. 

"Hold  on  three  hours  ?"  That  might  have  been  no  im- 
possible task  with  three  such  divisions  as  those  of  John- 
son, Davis,  and  Sheridan,  had  the  Southerners  boldly  as- 
sailed them  in  front,  but  who  had  looked  for  this?  Cer- 
tainly not  Johnson,  farthest  to  the  right,  for  he  himself 
was  a  mile  or  more  away  in  the  woods,  communing  with 
Willich,  thinking  more  of  breakfast  than  business.  Every- 
body understood  the  battle  was  to  begin  at  the  left,  and 
that  would  leave  the  right  division  the  last  to  go  in.  Here, 
close  at  hand,  standing  to  horse,  were  cavalry,  but  no 
general  at  the  right  had  thought  to  send  forth  a  squad- 
ron or  two  with  the  earliest  dawn,  to  ride  out  southward 
across  the  Franklin  Road  and  explore  the  thickets,  just 
to  see  if  anything  might  be  coming.  Close  at  hand,  too, 
were  guns  and  caissons  in  plenty,  but  no  horses  to  draw 
them,  for  they  had  been  led  off  to  the  branch  for  water. 
Close  at  hand  Kirk's  little  brigade  had  bivouacked  for  the 
night,  a  mile  in  rear  of  McCook's  division,  and  Kirk  was 
prompt  to  leap  forward  into  line  and  oppose  his  almost 
untried  \  olunteers,  fronting  south,  to  the  successive  waves 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  193 

in  gray  that  came  bursting  into  view  among  the  cedars. 
"Hold  your  ground  and  give  'em  hell !"  were  the  grim 
words  to  his  men,  as  he  sent  staff-officers  on  the  gallop 
to  Willich's  brigade  in  search  of  support.  Here  were 
crouching  the  men  of  the  West — Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois — 
all  eager  to  aid  the  threatened  lines,  but  their  stern,  Ger- 
man-schooled brigadier  had  ridden  aside  to  confer  with 
the  division  commander.  There  was  none  left  to  order 
advance,  and  Kirk  died  like  a  fighting  lion,  with  the  wreck 
of  his  brigade  about  him  as  he  fell,  and  Willich,  storm- 
ing full  tilt  back  to  his  lines,  was  hurled  from  his  stricken 
horse  and  into  the  arms  of  the  charging  grays.  With 
eleven  guns  stalled  behind  them  in  the  thickets,  with 
over  a  thousand  of  its  officers  and  men  shot  down  in  the 
desperate  struggle  to  stem  the  tide,  Johnson's  division,  at 
the  extreme  right,  crimbled  to  fragments  and  came 
drifting  northward  in  rear  of  the  comrade  lines.  The 
wreck  of  the  right  wing  was  begun. 

Then,  stricken  front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  next  division, 
Davis's,  had  to  let  go  and  change  front  to  the  south.  Then 
at  last  the  storm  burst  on  Sheridan,  ahd  now  came  check 
to  the  sweep  of  the  tide.  Over  the  shattered  remnants 
out  of  the  west,  the  rear,  of  these  unbroken  and  un- 
daunted lines,  the  triumphant  hosts  of  Pat  Cleburne  and 
McCann  were  trampling  in  wild  career,  but  when  the  men 
of  Cheatham  and  Withers  sprang  forward,  exultant,  to 
the  attack  they  were  met  with  cn.shing  repulse.  At  the 
right  of  Sheridan's  line,  along  the  low  ridge,  lay  the  stanch 
brigade  of  a  fighting  leader,  former  colonel  of  the  Thirtj  - 
third  Ohio,  friend,  fellow  soldier,  and  comrade  of  both  his 


194  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

division  and  corps  commander,  all  three  of  them  "Buck- 
eyes." Almost  under  the  eye  of  McCook,  raging,  and 
reckless  of  his  own  life,  in  vain  effort  to  check  the  rout  of 
his  wing,  almost  within  sound  of  Sheridan's  voice,  gal- 
lant Sill  led  his  men  in  furious  charge  that  drove  the 
fronting  Confederates  back  to  their  woods,  but  left  him 
shot  dead  in  the  daring  essay.  It  was  check  for  the  mo- 
ment, but  even  such  troops  as  Sheridan's  could  not  long 
hold  against  double  their  weight  in  assaulting  lines.  He, 
too,  as  had  Davis  before  him,  had  to  fall  back  fighting  to 
a  southward  change  of  front,  and  now,  though  far  out- 
flanked at  the  west,  where  McCann's  red  battle-flags  were 
sweeping  almost  unopposed  clear  around  to  the  Union 
rear,  what  was  left  of  McCook's  sturdy  corps  backed 
sullenly  through  the  dull  green  of  the  cedars,  fighting 
stubbornly  to  the  last. 

And  then  came  the  turn  of  the  center.  Then  at  last 
came  relief  from  the  left.  Refusing  at  first  to  believe 
there  was  serious  trouble  at  the  distant  right,  Rosecrans 
sat  in  saddle  with  Crittenden  near  the  fords,  watching 
with  kindling  eye  the  spirited  bearing  of  the  men  of  Van 
Cleve  as,  in  succession,  his  battalions  came  swinging  to 
the  bank,  smiling  up  at  "Old  Rosy"  as  they  passed  him 
by.  The  sound  of  battle  afar  to  the  south  had  by  no 
means  disturbed  him.  "It  will  divert  their  attention  from 
the  real  point  of  attack,"  said  he,  "and  McCook  is  there 
to  hold  them."  Even  when  Thomas's  messenger  came  he 
held  not  his  hand;  he  held  to  his  purpose.  "Thomas 
would  have  it  there  was  mischief  in  that  quarter,  and  he 
Clings  to  his  theory.  If  things  were  going  wrong  we 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  195 

would  have  heard  from  McCopk,"  was  his  reasoning. 
Even  when  messengers  came  hurrying  from  McCook, 
saying  that  he  was  heavily  engaged  and  in  need  of  as- 
sistance, Rosecrans  did  not  begin  to  realize  the  extent  of 
the  trouble.  McCook  did  not  say  that  Johnson  had  been 
whipped  from  the  field,  and  that  Davis  and  Sheridan 
were  overwhelmed.  For  nearly  two  hours  the  com- 
mander clung  to  his  faith  and  his  plans,,  then  came  dis- 
illusion and  reality. 

It  was  somewhere  toward  half-past  eight  o'clock  of 
that  dull  wintry  morning  that  the  wreck  of  Kirk's  and 
Willich's  commands  came  drifting  through  the  timber 
back  of  where  big-voiced  Rousseau,  held  in  reserve  in 
rear  of  the  center,  was  clamoring  for  a  chance  to  deploy 
to  the  south  and  help  stem  the  assault.  In  line  of  battle, 
still  facing  east,  Rolfe  and  his  regiment  stood  watching 
the  opposing  earthworks,  wondering  when  the  gray  occu- 
pants would  come  leaping  over  and  striding  across  the 
intervening  half-mile  of  low  lands.  It  seemed  the  lot  of 
Palmer's  division  to  have  to  wait  attack  from  the  east, 
which  was  wisely  avoided,  and  to  hear  all  the  uproar 
from  the  south  and  southwest  without  bearing  a  hand  'to 
put  stop  to  it.  Between  Rolfe  and  the  elderly  colonel 
commanding  the  brigade,  there  was  little  accord.  Rolfe 
was  full  of  fire,  action,  and  vim;  the  senior  colonel  was 
slow  and  phlegmatic.  With  the  other  brigade,  where, 
though  with  crumpled  front,  Bostwick  still  rode  a  brag- 
gart, Rolfe  had  little  to  do.  Rolfe's  division  commander 
much  liked  him,  but  being  "politic  when  he  wasn't  mad," 
avoided  over-manifestation  of  his  liking.  This  day,  how- 


196  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

ever,  for  the  life  of  him,  Palmer  could  not  keep  away 
from  Rolfe.  When  he  wasn't  riding  after  Thomas,  who 
was  silently,  warily  moving  about,  watching  develop- 
ments, Palmer  was  riding  down  to  ask  Rolfe  what  he 
thought  of  it  and  what  they  ought  to  be  doing. 

"We're  doing  as  ordered,"  said  Rolfe.  "We're  to  push 
in  to  attack  as  soon  as  Van  Cleve  opens  on  yonder  height, 
and  he  hasn't  opened.  It's  getting  to  be  my  belief  he  isn't 
going  to  open — that  this  whole  business  must  be  straight- 
ened out,  and  yonder  comes  the  man  to  do  it." 

At  last  the  conviction  had  fastened  on  Rosecrans,  far 
to  the  left,  that  he  was  needed  far  to  the  right.  Turning 
like  a  bull  at  bay,  McCook  was  fighting  terribly  now, 
brave,  butt-headed  as  ever,  and  still  being  borne  back  by 
force  of  numbers.  The  fiercest  battle  of  the  day  was 
raging  where  Sheridan  and  Negley,  side  by  side,  were 
fronting  the  rush  of  the  gray  charging  columns,  four 
splendid  brigades,  the  flower  of  the  corps  of  Polk  and 
Hardee.  Three  times  they  dashed  upon  the  blue  lines 
only  to  be  driven  back,  but  at  last  the  ammunition  of 
Sheridan's  men  began  to  fail,  even  the  cartridges  of  the 
dead  were  not  enough,  and  the  fourth  charge  told,  and 
now  came  the  turn  of  the  center — now  came  "Old  Rosy" 
himself,  the  incarnation  of  fire  and  fight  in  face  of  over- 
whelming disaster.  Bleeding  from  the  scratch  of  a  frag- 
ment of  shell,  hat  in  hand,  and  shouting  himself  hoarse, 
he  dashed  from  group  to  group,  urging,  steadying,  in- 
spiriting, until  even  in  their  chagrin  and  dismay,  men  by 
scores  came  to  cheer  him  and  then  to  line  up  and  take 
heart  again. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  197 

Rolfe  had  noted  him,  as  with  the  staff  trailing  after, 
the  general  spurred  swiftly  along  the  rear  of  the  line,  and 
Palmer's  battalions  took  up  and  carried  on  to  the  right 

the  cheer  that  began  in  the  th  Illinois.  It  wasn't  a 

minute  thereafter  that,  swaying  in  saddle,  and  with  ashen 
face,  a  young  officer  came  spurring  up  from  the  right 
rear  and  reined  in  a  foaming  horse  alongside  the  division 
commander. 

"General  Thomas  directs "  he  began,  with  uplifted 

voice,  for  the  clamor  through  the  timber  to  the  south  was 

appalling.  "General  Thomas "  he  repeated  feebly, 

and  got  no  further.  With  the  blood  gushing  from  his 
mouth,  he  sank,  swooning,  into  Freeman's  arms,  and  a 
surgeon  sprang  to  aid  him. 

"My  God!"  cried  a  staff-officer,  "there's  no  time  to 
lose.  It's  an  order  of  some  kind !" 

"Up  with  you,  Freeman !"  interrupted  Rolfe.  "Find 
General  Thomas,  tell  him  his  aide  died  before  he  could 

finish  the  message "  and,  almost  before  the  colonel 

could  say  the  words,  Freeman  had  sprung  to  horse  and 
was  tearing  away.  Once  over  the  low  ridge  at  their  back 
he  caught  for  the  first  time  a  glimpse  of  the  battle,  and 
the  sight  sent  a  chill  through  his  veins.  Here,  there,  and 
everywhere  off  toward  the  southwest  and  west,  wounded 
men  were  drifting  back  through  the  cedars,  some  stum- 
bling painfully  on,  with  a  gun  for  a  crutch,  some  half- 
carried  by  over-solicitous  comrades,  three  or  four  to  the 
man,  skulkers  and  shirks  only  too  glad  of  a  chance  to  get 
out  of  the  fight.  Here  and  there  some  had  dropped  ex- 
hausted or  gone,  and  their  helpers  had  left  them,  but  not 


198  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

to  return  to  the  lines.  Here  and  there,  shameful  sight, 
Freeman  could  see  unwounded  men,  some  without  even  a 
rifle,  sneaking  back  through  the  stunted  trees  and  hiding 
at  the  sight  of  staff-officers  darting  by.  In  a  muddy  lane 
he  came  upon  a  section  of  artillery,  the  drivers  frantically 
lashing  their  horses,  the  cannoneers  madly  straining  at 
the  wheels,  all  headed  for  the  rear.  "Ordered  back!" 
cried  the  sergeant,  in  command.  "All  that's  left  of  the 
battery,  by  God !  They've  swarmed  over  the  rest  of  it !" 

"Where's  General  Thomas?"  "Have  you  seen  General 
Thomas?"  Freeman  yelled  to  man  after  man,  but  only 
one  seemed  to  know  or  care.  A  boy  of  a  soldier,  barely 
eighteen,  with  an  arm  shattered  at  the  elbow,  let  it  drop 
and  drip  as  he  pointed  with  blood-covered  hand  to  a 
knoll,  a  few  rods  farther  on.  Thither  spurred  the  young 
adjutant,  almost  stumbling  over  a  little  knot  of  men, 
pallid  and  grief-stricken,  bearing  a  bleeding  form  to  the 
rear.  "Colonel  Roberts,"  sobbed  a  young  soldier,  stanch- 
ing the  flow  from  a  deep  gash  on  his  cheek.  "Shot  dead 
close  to  the  general's  side.  It's  all  up  at  the  right." 

"Where's  General  Thomas?"  was  the  only  reply.  No 
time  now  to  mourn  for  the  lost.  The  lad  turned  and 
pointed  through  the  trees  where  the  smoke-mists  of  battle 
were  drifting,  and  Freeman  went  on.  Another  minute 
and  he  came  upon  a  group  of  horsemen,  in  whose  midst, 
calm,  steadfast,  immovable,  speaking  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly to  a  fuming,  fiery,  black-eyed  little  general,  sat  the 
indomitable  soldier  in  charge  of  the  center,  and  forgetful 
of  everything  but  Palmer's  plight  and  his  urgent  message, 
Freeman  burst  through  the  swarm  of  horses  and  horse- 


There  sat  the  indomitable  soldier  in  charge  of  the  center,  and  forgetful  of 
everything  but  Palmer's  plight  and  urgent  message. 

Page  198 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  199 

men  until  within  a  pace  of  his  great  leader,  and  there, 
trembling  from  excitement  he  strove  vainly  to  control, 
almost  shouted  his  words : 

"Pardon,  general,  but  your  aide-de-camp  died  trying  to 
give  your  message  to  General  Palmer." 

"Then  you  take  it,  sir,"  was  the  sudden  answer.  "Tell 
General  Palmer  to  hold  fast  at  his  left,  but  to  retire  the 
right  so  as  to  form  line  facing  south.  I'll  be  with  him 
directly." 

Five  minutes  later,  Freeman,  afoot,  leaning  on  his 
sword,  limped  into  the  presence  of  his  division  com- 
mander. "Horse  killed,  sir,  and  fell  on  me.  General 
Thomas  directs "  he  began. 

"General  Thomas  is  here,"  interrupted  Palmer,  point- 
ing to  a  party  of  officers  who  came  slowly  trotting 
through  the  drifting  smoke.  "Here,  somebody,  Free- 
man's down,  too!" 

For  the  tall  young  soldier  had  swayed  an  instant,  then 
dropped  in  a  heap  on  the  sod. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

When  Freeman's  senses  came  briefly  back  to  him  he 
thought  he  was  again  in  France,  and  believed  he  had  met 
and  been  worsted  by  Pierre  Millaudon.  A  man's  voice, 
chattering  excitedly ;  querulously,  in  the  French  language, 
was  distinctly  heard  above  all  other  sounds  in  the  dimly 
lighted  room  in  which  he  lay.  A  woman's  voice,  soft,  yet 
remonstrant,  even  rebukeful,  made  occasional  reply ;  but  if 
this  were  France  what  meant  these  other  sounds  from 
without  ?  The  thud  of  hoof,  the  tramp  of  marching  men, 
the  rumble  of  wheels,  the  metallic  ring  of  scabbard  and 
harness,  the  occasional  blare  of  bugle,  and  the  dull,  dis- 
tant thunder  of  cannon  might  all  be  France,  but  not  the 
hoarse-shouted  words  of  command,  the  imprecations  and 
invective  that  startled  the  unaccustomed  ears — these  were 
too  genuinely  Anglo-American  to  fail  of  recognition ;  so, 
too,  the  occasional  appeal  of  fellow  sufferers  like  himself, 
crowded  into  the  low-ceilinged,  ill-ventilated  apartment 
and  its  adjoining  hallway.  One  voice,  close  at  hand,  was 
clamoring  vehemently  for  a  crutch,  a  stick,  anything  to 
help  him  to  limp  away ;  he  wouldn't  be  left  behind.  An- 
other was  pleading  feebly,  feverishly  for  water,  and 
presently  a  soldier  in  tattered  gray,  and  bandaged  head 
and  arm,  carried  a  brimming  cup  to  the  sufferer,  and, 
stumbling  against  the  sole  remaining  foot  of  the  livelier 
patient,  was  roundly  cursed  for  his  clumsiness,  and  re- 
torted fiercely  and  fluently.  The  near-by  feud  dulled  for 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  201 

the  moment  the  sound  of  other  voices.  Freeman  strained 
his  ears  in  vain  to  catch  the  words  in  French,  but  they 
abruptly  ceased.  Some  officer  of  rank  had  suddenly  en- 
tered, and  at  his  commanding  tone  other  sounds  subsided 
in  the  stifling  room. 

"Only  those  who  are  fit  to  march  and  fight,  if  need  be, 
can  go,"  were  the  words.  "The  Yanks  may  take  care  of 
the  rest.  A  Federal  officer,  you  said,  doctor?  Where 
is  he?" 

And  then  entered  a  surgeon,  ushering  a  tall,  slender 
soldier  in  Confederate  gray,  a  man  with  piercing  black 
eyes  and  a  sweeping  mustache.  "Is  he  fit  to  be  moved? 
If  so,  call  your  men." 

"Leg  broken,  sir.  Bruised  all  over.  Ambulance  over- 
turned, I  believe.  Oh,  yes,  he'll  be  up  and  in  saddle  again 
inside  of  six  weeks " 

"Then  bundle  him  into  the  wagon  and  send  him  along," 
was  the  order,  and  the  next  thing  Freeman  knew  he  was 
being  slung  in  a  blanket,  through  the  hallway  and  forth 
into  the  chill  but  blessed  air  of  the  winter's  night.  Lan- 
terns were  twinkling  here  and  there.  Fires  were  burning 
by  the  roadside.  Houses  stood  close  at  hand,  with  gap- 
ing doorways  and  dimly  lighted  windows.  The  road  in 
front  was  thronged  with  a  swift-marching  column.  The 
North  Star  sparkled  far  away  toward  the  horizon.  What 
could  this  mean  ?  When  last  he  set  eyes  on  those  serried 
ranks  in  gray,  exultant,  triumphant,  irresistible,  appar- 
ently, they  were  surging  onward,  northward  through  the 
cedars.  He  remembered  how  terrible  they  looked  under 
the  blood-red  battle-flags  as  they  came  bursting  through 


202  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

the  trees  but  two  hundred  yards  away,  and  then  with  the 
crash  of  the  volley,  down  went  his  stricken  horse,  and  he 
— he  had  Thomas's  message  to  bear  and  must  go  on.  But 
now,  though  victorious,  as  Freeman  believed,  now  the 
victors  had  turned  their  backs  to  the  northern  sky  and 
were  marching  swiftly,  sullenly  away.  What  could  it 
mean  ?  What  could  it  mean  ?  And  leaving  their  wounded 
"for  the  Yanks  to  care  for."  What  could  that  porten  1  ? 
Freeman  was  wofully  weak,  sore  in  every  muscle,  bound 
and  bandaged,  utterly  bewildered.  The  surgeon  and  the 
senior  officer  had  vanished  in  the  throng.  A  wagon 
stuffed  with  straw  stood  close  at  hand,  into  which  two 
wounded  men  had  been  lifted,  and  a  third,  with  shrill  and 
startling  blasphemy,  was  damning  those  who  sought  to 
lift  or  touch  him.  There  came  sudden  sound  of  crunching 
hoofs  and  wheels,  a  blare  of  bugle,  a  shout  of  "Clear  the 
way,  there,"  and  a  battery,  striving  to  pass  at  a  trot,  bore 
down  upon  them.  Freeman's  bearers  suddenly  dropped 
him  to  earth,  and  then  he  was  grabbed  aside,  he  never 
knew  how,  for  in  sharp,  sudden  agony  he  swooned  again 
and,  when  next  he  came  to,  the  wagon  had  been  swept 
away;  there  was  none  to  bear  him,  and  with  two  thou- 
sand and  more  of  Southern  wounded  crowding  the 
houses,  hospital-tents,  and  sheds  of  Murfreesboro,  Edgar 
Freeman  found  himself  virtually  bound  hand  and  foot,  a 
prisoner,  yet  among  his  own  people.  Close  following 
Stanley's  cavalry  had  come  the  sturdy  men  of  the  center, 
Thomas  himself  at  their  head.  The  sweeping  success  of 
early  morn,  and  the  long  hours  of  that  last  day  of  the  old 
unhappy  year,  had  netted  Bragg  nothing,  after  all.  The 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  203 

tide  had  turned  when  at  last  it  broke  upon  the  granite 
front  of  Old  Major  Slow  Trot  and  the  center.  Against 
that  barrier  the  Southern  hosts  had  stormed  in  vain,  and 
after  three  days  of  futile  effort,  had  abandoned  the  field 
and  Northern  Tennessee.  Another  State  won  for  the 
Union ! 

And  then  with  Rolfe  and  Allis  and  Rawson  to  come 
and  cheer  him,  Freeman  began  to  mend,  and  ask  mani- 
fold questions.  He  was  interested,  of  course,  in  what 
they  had  to  tell  him,  but  more  interested  still  in  matters 
they  knew  not  of,  and  referred  to  as  mere  delirium  pre- 
ceding returning  consciousness.  Freeman  insisted  that 
when  first  he  was  able  to  hear  again,  there  were  voices 
that  he  knew,  speaking  in  French,  and  one  of  these  was 
the  voice  of  a  young  Creole,  Millaudon,  whom  he  had  met 
in  France,  that  the  other  was  the  voice  of  Katherine  Clai- 
borne,  whom  he  had  known  at  the  west  fork.  To  Rolfe 
only  did  he  speak  of  this  at  first,  but  as  Rolfe  merely 
smiled,  Freeman  told  his  tentmate,  and  Rawson  was 
young  enough  to  be  credulous.  Besides — he,  too,  had 
heard  something. 

It  seems  that  soon  after  Freeman  fell,  close  to  his  old 
regiment,  they  had  lifted  him  into  an  ambulance  to  send 
him,  with  another  wounded  officer,  to  the  rear.  It  was 
headed  off  by  a  section  of  artillery,  struggling  back 
through  the  cedars,  and  then  caught  in  the  throng  of 
straggling  men,  horses,  and  guns,  when  after  hours  of 
stubborn  fighting  Sheridan's  brigade,  all  out  of  ammuni- 
tion, came  drifting  to  the  rear.  A  bursting  shell  killed  the 
driver.  The  mules  tore  away,  and  the  luckless  inmates  of 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


the  ambulance  were  tumbled  with  it  into  a  hollow,  and 
picked  up  later  by  the  charging  line.  "We  thought  it  was 
all  over  with  Negley  and  Palmer  and  Rousseau,  too," 
said  Allis,  "but  old  Pap  backs  us  up  against  the  Round 
Forest,  and  there  we  were  wedged  shoulder  to  shoulder 
and  planted  solid  as  an  anvil.  There  was  no  budging 
after  that.  But  I  tell  you  we  were  sick-hearted  when 
Garesche's  head  went  off  right  behind  'Old  Rosy/  " 

Yes,  it  was  all  vividly  interesting,  but  what  Ned  Free- 
man was  eager  to  find  was  some  one  who  could  tell  him 
who  carried  him  into  that  house  where  he  first  came  to, 
and  where  it  stood,  and  what  had  become  of  all  those  who 
were  in  it.  He  had  started  on  the  campaign  a  sore- 
hearted  man,  believing  himself  wronged  and  flouted  by 
that  auburn-haired  girl  he  had  left  in  anger  in  Kentucky. 
He  believed  her  guilty  of  encouraging  the  clandestine 
visits  of  a  lover  now  known  to  be  in  the  Southern  army, 
even  while  giving  a  Northerner  good  reason  to  persevere 
in  his  devotion.  He  had  tried  to  persuade  himself  he 
wished  to  shut  her  out  of  his  heart,  to  have  no  thought 
save  for  his  country  and  his  country's  need  until  that 
need  were  over,  yet  now  that  he  believed  he  had  heard 
Kate  Claiborne's  voice,  he  longed  to  know  if  she  was  still 
near  and  what  share  she  had  had  in  bringing  him  back  to 
consciousness,  and  the  road  to  new  life. 

And  Rolfe,  the  unbeliever,  was  the  first  to  prove  him- 
self in  the  wrong  and  Freeman  right.  He  made  investi- 
gation, found  the  cottage  to  which  Freeman  had  been 
borne  when  brought  in  a  wounded  prisoner,  found  the 
woman  of  the  house,  and  learned  from  her  that  a  young 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  205 

Federal  officer  had  been  left  there  by  a  guard  and  some 
bearers,  with  an  older  lady  and  with  her  niece  and 
wounded  Brother,  and  also  a  Lieutenant  Millaudon,  and 
that  now  the  Claibornes  had  disappeared,  gone,  she  had 
heard,  to  Tullahoma,  with  the  intention  of  getting  to 
Georgia  or  Alabama. 

By  this  time  it  was  mid-January,  and  with  his  leg  in 
splints  and  bandages,  and  his  back  and  shoulders 
wrenched  and  lame,  Freeman  was  beginning  to  sit  up  and 
take  notice,  as  Rolfe  said,  and  then  there  came  distrac- 
tion. RoHe  and  the  regiment  were  ordered  forward,  but 
before  they  moved  Freeman  had  been  borne  to  more  com- 
fortable quarters,  a  large  white  house  on  the  southern 
outskirts,  and  there,  with  a  number  of  convalescing  "rebs" 
about  him,  and  only  the  surgeon  and  hospital  people  on 
the  premises  in  blue  uniform,  there  came  a  night  when 
Freeman  thought  he  had  seen  a  ghost. 

The  fact  that  General  Thomas  himself  had  twice  been 
to  see  him,  and  that  so  distinguished  an  officer  as  Colonel 
Rolfe  had  been  assiduous  in  attention,  had  greatly  im- 
pressed the  surgeon  in  charge  of  this  particular  detach- 
ment of  sick,  wounded,  and  convalescent.  Doctor  Whar- 
ton  had  found  it  possible  to  put  Freeman  in  a  little  room 
on  the  first  floor,  opening  on  a  broad  back  piazza,  com- 
manding a  view  of  the  garden-walk,  hedged  by  denuded 
bushes  and  crisscrossed  by  clothes-lines.  When  these  lat- 
ter were  not  cumbered  by  sheets,  pillow-cases,  and  towels, 
flapping  in  the  wintry  wind,  one  could  see  farther  still,  a 
broken-down  back  gate,  a  fence,  minus  many  a  panel,  and 
a  two-storied  frame  house,  with  porch  and  gallery,  given 


206         .     The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

over  mainly  to  wounded  Confederate  officers,  as  could  be 
readily  seen.  When  first  moved  on  his  cot  to  this  room, 
Freeman  shared  it  with  a  young  captain  of  cavalry  who 
had  been  so  enterprising  and  imprudent  as  to  suspect 
something  wrong  at  the  southward  front  the  fatal  morn- 
ing of  December  31,  and  had  ridden  out  a  little  beyond 
the  Franklin  Pike,  and  into  the  welcoming  arms  of  a 
troop  of  gray  cavalry,  who  put  a  shot  through  his  arm 
and  a  volley  through  his  horse  when  he  turned  to  ride 
back;  relieved  him  of  his  boots,  spurs,  belt,  saber,  pistol, 
compass,  watch,  cash  (They  politely  returned  certain  I 
O  U's),  gauntlets,  hat,  and  overcoat,  and  sent  him  on 
into  town,  first  prisoner  from  "the  far-flung  battle-line" 
at  the  west.  Captain  Preston's  arm  mended  quicker  than 
did  Freeman's  leg.  He  was  in  buoyant  spirits  over  the 
chance  of  getting  back  to  Kentucky  on  sick  leave,  and 
Freeman  was  both  glad  and  sorry  when  he  was  gone. 

"I  s'pose  I'll  have  to  move  somebody  else  in  here," 
said  Doctor  Wharton,  "but  I'll  try  to  pick  a  less  exuber- 
ant patient.  Preston  was  too  damned  cheerful.  He's  got 
a  girl  somewhere  near  Lexington  waiting  for  his  home- 
coming. That's  what's  the  matter." 

Poor  Freeman  had  a  girl  not  far  from  Lexington 
whom  he  had  much  offended,  and  would  give  his  eyes  to 
see  and  make  it  all  up,  if  he  could  only  feel  sure  he  was 
wrong  in  his  suspicion  as  to  her  night  visitor.  He  had 
the  room  to  himself  and  his  occasional  attendant,  and 
stacks  of  Northern  papers,  and  fond  letters  from  mother 
and  Elsie,  mother  beginning  to  speak  of  Colonel  Rolfe  as 
showing  many  very  delicate  and  thoughtful  attentions  she 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  207 

had  not  "believed  him  capable  of,"  many  mothers  having 
deeply  rooted  conviction  that  instructors  at  the  national 
academies  who  are  compelled  to  take  note  of  the  pro- 
fessional shortcomings  of  youngsters  in  gray  or  blue, 
must  be  lacking  in  all  the  finer  attributes  of  the  officer 
and  gentleman.  Mother  and  Elsie  both  were  over- 
whelmed with  sense  of  Edgar's  suffering,  and  looking,  of 
course,  for  speedy  promotion  as  the  result  of  his  heroism, 
to  which,  indeed,  both  General  Thomas  and  Colonel  Rolfe 
had  referred  in  their  letters.  "Carried  his  orders  afoot 
through  heavy  fire  in  spite  of  a  twisted  ankle  and  a  shot 
through  the  leg  that  drained  his  life's  blood,  almost  to 
the  point  of  exhaustion,  before  we  knew  it."  Then  to 
think. of  the  ambulance  accident  later!  Yes,  mother  and 
Elsie  were  both  for  coming  to  far  Tennessee,  but  the 
general  advised  against  it.  Ned  was  doing  perfectly  well, 
would  soon  be  up  and  in  saddle  again,  and  it  was  no 
place  for  ladies. 

Freeman  lay  thinking  of  this  late  one  moonlit  night, 
when  a  soft  mantle  of  snow  had  fallen  and  the  town  was 
very  still.  His  attendant,  a  semi-invalided  young  fifer, 
was  curled  up  in  his  blanket  on  a  straw-stuffed  bed-sack 
on  the  floor.  The  curtainless  window  near  his  bedside 
enabled  him  to  look  out  over  the  dismantled  back  garden, 
and  the  clear  moonlight  shone  sparkling  on  hedgerow, 
pathway,  fence,  and  gate,  all  edged  and  trimmed  with 
nature's  ermine.  "No  place  for  ladies,"  the  general  and 
the  chief  surgeon  had  declared,  and  Freeman  had  been 
thinking  a  bit  wistfully  of  this  virtual  prohibition,  and 
wondering  who  the  luckier  fellow  or  fellows  could  be 


208  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

over  in  yonder  tenement  (for  on  its  porch  he  had  twice 
that  evening  caught  sight  of  feminine  forms,  two  of 
them),  when  all  on  a  sudden,  even  as  he  looked,  coming 
swiftly  into  view  from  he  could  not  see  or  say  where,  was 
one  of  these  feminine  forms — a  young  one  and  a  graceful 
— and  to  his  surprise  it  was  coming  down  the  steps,  up 
the  pathway,  through  the  gate,  yes,  and  straight  for  the 
house  wherein,  utterly  amazed,  and  thrilling  with  new  ex- 
citement, Freeman  lay;  for  now  he  knew  that  sharp  col- 
loquy in  French  was  no  dream ;  for  the  pallid,  anxious,  yet 
beautiful  face  so  swiftly  nearing  him  through  the  moon- 
light was  that  of  Kate  Claiborne,  heroine  of  the  night 
adventure,  and  the  flood  on  the  west  fork. 

The  next  moment  there  stood  the  now  shadowy  form 
at  his  window,  between  him  and  the  clear  blue-white 
moonlight  beyond,  and  there  one  moment  it  hovered, 
irresolute,  as  though  peering  into  the  darkened  room. 
Then  Ned  Freeman  picked  up  the  heaviest  object  within 
reach,  a  bound  copy  of  Volume  I.,  "Life  and  Times  of 
Andrew  Jackson,"  and  sent  it  spinning  across  the  room  at 
the  fifer's  sleeping,  snoring  head.  "Wake  up,  Benny," 
he  shouted.  "There's  a  lady  at  the  window!"  And  the 
lady,  who  at  first  sound  of  his  voice  had  shrunk  in  alarm, 
now  took  courage  and  tapped  at  the  door.  "Please  come 
in,"  called  Freeman.  "I'm  in  splints  and  this  fat  boy  in 
a  trance." 

But  the  door  opened,  the  tall  form  in  shadow  said,  "I 
beg  your  pardon,  but  we  need  Doctor  Wharton  at  once. 
Doctor  Sterling  is  called  away  and  there's  been  an  ac- 
cident." 


The  Rock  of  Chickamaiiga1,  109 

"Miss  Claiborne,  it's  Ned  Freeman"  (He  could  not  see 
the  start) ;  "you  shall  have  Doctor  Wharton  at  once.  Get 
up,  you  sluggard !  Oh,  you  are  up  at  last.  Give  the  lady 
a  chair  and  then  scoot  for  Doctor  Wharton.  Do  sit 
down,  Miss  Kate,  please.  I  knew  it  was  you  I  heard  that 

night  over  by  the "     But  suddenly  as  she  came  the 

lady  had  vanished.  One  stifled  exclamation  and  she  was 
gone.  Freeman  could  follow  her  with  his  eyes  as  she  fled 
like  a  wraith  down  the  desolate  pathway,  and  into  that 
opposite  homestead  where  lights  were  flitting,  and  there 
was  sound  of  voices  and  footsteps  and  confusion,  and 
presently  came  back  "Benny."  The  doctof  was  up  and 
off  like  a  shot,  he  said,  only  he  went  through  the  next 
door  lot,  and  so,  for  nearly  an  hour,  Freeman  waked  and 
waited  in  vain  to  hear  what  had  happened.  Then  Whar- 
ton came  and  told  him,  but  only  in  part. 

Yes,  it  was  Miss  Claiborne.  Her  father  had  kept  out 
of  the  war  until  their  home  was  burned  almost  over  their 
heads — burned  by  men  in  Union  uniform,  and  that  settled 
it.  Claiborne  was  a  captain  now  in  the  Louisiana  brigade, 
Breckinridge's  division,  and  her  uncle,  Doctor  MiHau- 
don,  had  left  his  practise  at  Lebanon,  and  was  surgeon 
in  the  same  division.  It  was  they  who  recognized  Free- 
man  when  he  was  brought  into  town  with  other  wounded 
and  prisoners.  It  was  they  who  first  cared  for  him,  and 
now  she  was  nursing  her  father  and  other  Confederate 
wounded,  and  one  young  fool  that  night  had  slipped  his 
bandages  and  sought  to  escape.  The  father  was  doing 
fairly  well,  but  she  had  other  anxieties  and  other  patients 
on  her  hands,  and  she  was  so  grateful  to  Mr.  Freeman 


liO  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga, 

for  his  prompt  aid,  so  sorry  to  have  disturbed  him.  She 
Wouldn't  have  done  that  for  the  world  if  she  had  known. 
Wharton  was  shrewdly  eying  the  young  soldier's  solemn 
face  as  he  narrated. 

"D'you  happen  to  know  who  the  young  fool  is  who 
tried  to  get  away?"  asked  Freeman,  unexpectedly. 

"Officially,"  answered  Wharton,  with  some  delibera- 
tion, "I  have  information  that  his  name  is  McDonald, 
that  he's  an  aide  of  General  Breckinridge.  She,  however, 
called  him  Mr.  Morgan." 

Whereat  Ned  Freeman  sat  almost  upright,  and  Whar- 
ton expansively  grinned.  "He  isn't  much  damaged,  in 
wind  or  limb,"  said  he.  "It  was  a  madcap  exploit,  com- 
ing back  here  and  slipping  past  our  pickets  by  night; 
then,  when  recognized,  trying  to  whip  a  whole  brigade. 
Now  he's  down  again,  and  as  soon  as  he  can  travel, 
they'll  be  shipping  him  North  to  prison,  to  Chicago  or  the 
Islands,  I  suppose." 

When  morning  came  Benny,  the  fifer,  was  sent  down 
the  path  with  a  grateful  note  and  a  basket  of  sundries, 
picked  from  a  box  that  had  come  from  New  York.  There 
were  lemons  and  oranges,  some  hothouse  grapes  and 
some  bottles  of  wine,  and  there  came  back  a  message  by 
Wharton  himself.  It  led  to  further  correspondence  with 
the  enemy,  to  exchange  of  sentiment  between  the  blue  and 
the  gray  sure  to  set  a  war  secretary's  teeth  on  edge  when 
he  heard  of  it.  It  led  to  even  more. 

One  evening,  late  in  January,  Doctor  Wharton,  escort- 
ing Miss  Claiborne  to  the  little  room  she  had  but  once  be- 
fore invaded,  and  that  in  the  darkness,  left  her  a  moment 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  in 

seated  by  the  old  rocking-chair  in  which  reclined  Lieu- 
tenant Ned  Freeman,  of  the  th  Illinois,  his  left  leg 

extended  upon  an  empty  but  comfortable  barrel.  Her 
face,  sweet,  serious,  yet  softly  flushing,  was  toward  the 
window.  His,  somewhat  pallid  and  thin,  yet  filled  with  a 
certain  sense  of  satisfaction,  was  toward  the  open  door. 
He  heard  Wharton's  jovial  voice,  his  returning  footsteps, 
the  sound  of  others,  but  he  little  heeded  in  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  again  this  brave  and  gentle  girl,  whose  devotion 
to  her  father  he  so  admired,  whose  misfortune  he  so  de- 
plored. Even  when  the  hall  doorway  was  darkened  by 
the  entrance  of  those  others,  he  did  not  at  once  look  up. 
Miss  Claiborne  was  telling  of  her  father's  improvement, 
of  Mr.  Morgan's  convalescence.  They  had  taken  the  lat- 
ter away.  He  was  to  go  North  that  night.  She  had 
heard  that  his  father  had  come  to  the  army  to  see  him, 
and  then  she  faltered  at  sight  of  the  amaze  in  Freeman's 
face,  at  sight  of  the  sudden  joy  in  his  eyes — the  color 
that  surged  to  his  forehead.  Then  slowly  the  light  died 
from  her  own  face,  as  she  turned  and  looked  toward  the 
door.  There,  just  within  the  portal,  was  gray-haired 
Colonel  Morgan,  sad-eyed,  yet  sympathetic.  There,  at 
his  side — Kate  Claiborne  could  never  forget  the  look  in 
her  scornful  eyes — there  stood  Frances,  his  daughter. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"Do  you  remember  my  saying  to  you  that  night  at  the 
Helms'  that  something  had  occurred  to  perplex  me  ?"  It 
was  General  Thomas  himself  who  spoke.  It  ,vas  Free- 
man, to  whom  the  general  had  come  to  say  adieu,  who 
was  thus  addressed,  and  Freeman  silently  bowed  his  head. 
No  one  could  be  more  perplexed  than  he. 

"It  was  about  Donald  Morgan.  I  had  reason  to  be- 
lieve he  was  even  then  in  the  Confederate  service.  I 
knew  that  he  had  left  his  father's  home,  declaring  that 
there  he  would  be,  yet  that  very  evening  his  mother  as- 
sured me  he  was  not,  and  that  they  still  hoped  to  hold 
him.  But  they  failed,  and  now  the  boy  goes  to  prison." 

Freeman,  still  unable  to  walk,  sat  silent.  How  long 
had  Donald  Morgan  held  that  commission?  What  was 
he  when  he  lay  in  hiding  at  the  farmer's  house  near  the 
west  fork?  Was  he  then  an  officer — a  soldier  of  the 
South?  If  so,  and  it  should  be  known,  the  hangman's 
noose  might  end  his  days.  If  in  the  secret  service,  or  if 
serving  the  South  in  any  capacity  within  the  Union  lines 
without  the  uniform,  there  could  be  but  one  fate  for  him 
— that  of  a  spy. 

"Have  they  heard,  sir,  of  his  chum — Jack  Barbour  ?" 

"That's  the  strange  part  of  it,  and  puzzles  me  most," 
was  the  answer.  "Wounded  officers  whom  Colonel  Mor- 
gan consulted,  said  they  knew  nothing  of  him.  Ken- 
tuckians  go  so  far  as  to  say  he  has  not  joined  the  army. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  213 

They  don't  know  where  he  is.  Donald  says  they  had  a 
difference  and  parted.  No  one  seems  to  know  what  he  is 
doing.  These  are  sorrowful  days  for  my  old  friends.  I 
made  a  plea  in  their  behdf.  I  verily  believe  the  foolish 
boy  had  no  other  object  than  a  meeting  with  the  girl  he 
loved,  but  stronger  influences  than  mine  are  against  him. 
Sometimes  I  doubt  if  I  have  any  influence." 

Sorrowful  days,  indeed,  for  old  friends  and  for  many 
more!  The  parting  between  the  stricken  parents,  the 
weeping  sister,  and  the  young  soldier  Donald  was  some- 
thing not  soon  to  be  forgotten  by  those  who  saw.  When 
at  last  the  boy  unclasped  his  mother's  arms  and,  turning 
suddenly,  strode  away  with  his  guards,  there  were  officers 
in  the  Union  blue  who  went  to  the  aging  father  and  ten- 
dered their  sympathy  and  begged  to  be  of  service.  With 
a  train-load  of  wounded  they  went  back  to  Nashville,  the 
sorrowing  three,  and  not  another  look  for  many  a  day 
had  Ned  Freeman  of  the  face  he  loved — the  face  that  now 
had  no  look  for  him. 

And  that  last  look  haunted  and  disturbed  him.  Amazed 
as  he  had  been  at  the  sudden  sight  of  her,  he  had  not 
been  so  startled  that  he  failed  to  note  her  every  expres- 
sion. It  was  evident  that  the  sight  of  Kate  Claiborne, 
seated  by  his  side,  was  something  for  which  she  was  in  no 
wise  prepared,  and  there  was  instant  anger  and  resent- 
ment in  her  flashing  eyes.  But  if  in  the  eyes  of  the  Vir- 
ginia girl  there  flashed  haughty  challenge,  there  was  no 
symptom  of  alarm  in  those  of  the  girl  from  Louisiana. 
Miss  Claiborne  rose  to  her  feet,  with  the  quiet  grace  of 
her  Creole  blood  and  the  dignity  of  a  queen,  bowed  com- 


214  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

prehensively  to  father  and  daughter  and,  by  the  door 
through  which  she  had  entered,  slowly  left  the  room, 
Wharton  staring  after  her  in  astonishment,  Colonel  Mor- 
gan gazing  in  unmistakable  sorrow.  The  Morgans  re- 
mained but  five  minutes.  They  had  come  merely  to  see 
Freeman,  to  thank  him  and  to  wish  him  speedy  recovery 
and,  as  the  colonel  expressed  it,  speedy  recognition  of  the 
gallant  service  of  which  General  Thorias  had  both 
spoken  and  written.  As  for  Miss  Morgan,  she  spoke 
hardly  at  all.  It  was  she  who  reminded  her  father  they 
must  hurry  back  to  Donald  and  mother.  They  left  with 
something  unsaid.  The  hand  she  gave  Ned  Freeman,  or 
rather  that  he  reached  forth  and  seized,  was  cold  and 
unresponsive.  Then  they  were  gone. 

"A  devil  of  a  fellow  that  Donald  of  theirs !"  said  Whar- 
ton, a  few  hours  later.  "I  gather  that  Miss  Claiborne  was 
their  near  neighbor  in  Kentucky  and  Donald  in  love  with 
her,  and  the  parents  opposed,  and  that  it  was  to  see  her 
that  he  was  ass  enough  to  come  riding  back  here,  hoping 
to  pass  for  a  wounded  officer,  perhaps  on  parole,  and  first 
thing  ran  slap  into  some  of  Sam  Wetherby's  troop.  I — 
thought  you'd  be  interested,"  he  concluded  lamely,  for 
Freeman,  mightily  concerned,  more  than  interested,  was 
doing  his  best  to  look  bored.  He  knew  so  much  more  of 
Donald  than  did  this  worthy  ^Esculapian — yet  had  not 
suspected  this. 

So  it  was  love  and  longing  for  Kate  Claiborne  that 
brought  young  Donald  daringly  back  to  the  Union  lines. 
It  was  love  that,  probably,  had  held  him  there  about  the 
now  ruined  homestead,  after  the  angry  parting  with  his 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  215 

father — long  after  he  should  have  been  with  his  com- 
rades in  gray  if  gray  was  to  be  his  final  choice.  So  it 
was  this  love  for  poor  Claiborne's  daughter  that  had 
antagonized  the  Morgans,  and  made  her  the  object  of 
their  dislike  and  distrust.  So  this  explained  the  aversion 
in  Frances  Morgan's  face  as  she  stood  there  at  the  door- 
way, and  looked  upon  Kate  Claiborne  with  challenge  in 
her  flashing  eyes,  and  now  poor  Don  must  go  to  the  cold 
North,  a  prisoner  of  war,  in  spite  of  prompt  offer  of  ex- 
change, in  spite  of  the  plea  of  the  general  of  the  lion 
heart,  the  soldier  whose  inflexible  shield  had  bent  the 
Southern  spear,  whose  indomitable  spirit  had  baffled 
Southern  valor.  "I  sometimes  doubt  if  I  have  any  influ- 
ence," he  sadly  spoke,  the  day  he  came  to  say  adieu. 
Thomas  was  to  move  forward  nearer  the  entrenching 
lines  of  Bragg.  Murfreesboro  was  for  the  time  one  vast 
field-hospital,  and  now,  with  Rolfe  and  Rawson  gone, 
Ned  Freeman's  days  would  indeed  have  been  lonesome 
but  for  ''poor  Claiborne's  daughter,"  whom  he  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  see  again,  and  one  coming  led  to  another. 

It  seems  that  when  they  left  Kentucky,  their  last  hold 
gone,  they  had  accompanied  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Millaudon, 
with  whom  they  had  found  refuge  after  the  destruction 
of  their  home.  Millaudon,  joining  the  Louisiana  brigade 
as  surgeon,  had  installed  his  wife  and  niece  in  Murfrees- 
boro, confident,  as  were  his  comrades,  that  in  a  fortnight 
or  so  they  would  occupy  Nashville  as  winter  quarters. 
The  refusal  of  Old  Rosy  to  retreat  after  being  soundly 
whipped  all  morning,  the  fearful  reception  given  the  men 
in  gray  when  they  charged  the  lines  of  Thomas  in  the  late 


2t6  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

afternoon,  the  fact  that  instead  of  vanishing  with  the  old 
year,  the  Union  bayonets  came  boring  ahead  again  with 
the  third  day  of  the  new,  and  then  that  Bragg,  not  Rose- 
crans,  should  abandon  the  field,  leaving  his  wounded  be- 
hind (There  was  method  in  that  mode  of  warfare.  It 
threw  the  burden  of  their  keep  and  care  upon  a  merciful 
adversary.) — all  this  was  a  stupefaction  to  Doctor  Millau- 
don.  He  had  to  leave  his  stricken  brother-in-law,  the 
veteran  captain,  with  the  wounded.  He  had  to  leave  his 
niece,  since  she  would  not  leave  her  father.  He  had  even 
to  leave  his  wife,  who  declared  with  truth  that  Kate  and 
the  captain  had  more  need  of  her  than  had  the  surgeon, 
and,  she  added,  "a  better  and  safer  place  to  stay."  Cer- 
tain few  of  the  Confederate  surgeons  had  been  selected  to 
remain  with  the  wounded  and  share  their  fate,  which 
Bragg  shrewdly  conjectured  would  be  no  worse  than  if 
they  went  on  southward,  and  ought  to  be  better.  But 
Millaudon  was  not  one.  The  Louisiana  brigade  had  not 
been  as  sorely  tried  as  most  of  its  companions,  and  Breck- 
inridge  proved  obdurate. 

So  here  were  Mrs.  Millaudon  and  Kate  with  Captain 
Claiborne  and  three  other  wounded,  in  the  old  house  back 
of  Wharton's  establishment,  and  it  pleased  the  surgeon  in 
chief  to  see  that  they  were  cared  for  as  were  his  own. 
Thanks  to  Mrs.  Millaudon  and  Kate,  they  could  be  cared 
for  even  more  tenderly.  ft 

"But  I  wish  to  borrow  this  young  lady  again,"  said  he, 
one  morning.  "One  of  my  patients  over  yonder  is  lan- 
guishing because  she  hasn't  been  to  see  him  since  the  day 
the  Morgans  called,"  and  Wharton  noted,  with  much  self- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  217 

commendation,  the  instant  flush  that  followed  his  words. 
It  was  but  a  step  from  one  house  to  the  other,  and  Kate 
Claiborne,  later  that  sunny  afternoon,  was  once  more 
seated  by  Ned  Freeman's  chair. 

She  came  because  he  begged  that  she  should  come.  She 
had  urged  that  Madame  Millaudon  go  with  her,  but  the 
aunt  declined.  How  could  she  leave  four  wounded  offi- 
cers with  no  attention  ?  Kate  went  on  Doctor  Wharton's 
arm,  and  Freeman's  eyes  and  greeting  were  eloquent  of 
gratitude.  She  was  constrained  and  almost  silent  for  a 
while,  but  he  begged  her  to  answer  him.  He  had  need, 
he  said,  to  know  what  Pierre  Millaudon  was  demanding 
that  night  when  Freeman  was  brought  in  a  prisoner.  She 
owned  in  reply  that  Millaudon  was  there,  and  had  been 
"arguing,"  and  had  gone  away  angered  because  General 
Breckinridge  would  not  order  Freeman  and  certain  other 
prisoners  sent  on  South  at  once.  But  of  her  own  part 
in  the  controversy  she  refused  to  talk,  and  Freeman 
abandoned  the  subject  and  turned  to  something  else.  He 
had  need,  he  said,  to  know  everything  she  could  tell  him 
about  the  strange  affray  that  night  at  the  old  house — 
that  in  which  he  had  interposed  to  protect  her  father — 
that  in  which  some  one  had  interposed  in  time  to  save 
him.  All  she  would  at  first  admit  was  that  a  soldier  had 
been  hanging  about  the  place  for  a  day  or  two.  She  saw 
him  first  when  he  came  with  a  Major  Cutler,  who  talked 
long  with  her  father;  and  the  day  after  they  rode  away, 
the  soldier  came  back  and  was  very  impertinent,  indeed 
insolent,  to  father,  and  finally,  on  another  occasion,  very 
rude  to  her,  and  then  her  father  became  furious  and 


2i 8  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

struck  him.  Then  other  soldiers  came  and  helped  the 
man  O'Reilly,  and  then  Mr.  Freeman  came  to  father's 
aid,  and  then  still  others.  It  was  dark.  She  had  not 
recognized  him,  she  said.  To  Freeman's  direct  question : 
"Was  it  not  Mr.  Donald  Morgan?"  she  looked  him 
squarely  in  the  eyes,  and  her  eyes  were  clear  and  beauti- 
ful, and  astonished  him  by  her  answer : 
"Mr.  Donald  Morgan  was  not  the  man." 
And  all  these  months  Ned  Freeman  had  been  believing 
himself  indebted  for  his  life,  probably,  to  the  timely  aid 
of  the  young  Virginian.  If  .not  Donald  Morgan,  then 
who  was  it?  And  Miss  Claiborne  said  she  did  not  so 
much  as  see  his  face  or  hear  his  voice.  She  did  not  really 
know. 

Later  Freeman  asked  for  all  that  she  could  tell  him 
about  the  night  of  the  fire.  She  said  they  were  roused  at 
midnight  by  hammerings  on  their  door,  the  fierce  barking 
of  the  dog,  and  her  father  ran  out  to  find  the  barn  and 
sheds  in  a  broad  blaze.  She  dressed  hurriedly  to  join 
him.  They  had  tried  to  save  the  poor  horses,  the  cow  and 
calf,  the  negro  servants  aiding ;  and  even  as  they  worked, 
there  came  a  cry  from  one  of  the  people,  and  turning 
they  saw  flames  leaping  up  in  the  interior  of  the  house 
itself,  and  by  the  glare  caught  sight  of  two  or  three  forms 
in  light-blue  soldiers'  overcoats,  sneaking  or  scurrying 
away.  In  three  minutes  everything  was  a  broad  blaze ;  in 
ten  minutes  everything  was  gone.  They  were  ruined. 
Father  appealed  in  vain  to  the  general  at  Crab  Orchard. 
He  could  fix  the  crime  on  nobody.  Father  named 
.O'Reilly  and  begged  that  he  should  be  looked  up  at  once. 


The  Rock  or  ^nickamauga.  219 

It  was  declared  that  O'Reilly  was  with  Major  Cutler  in 
Louisville,  and  could  not  have  been  elsewhere.  The  Mor- 
gans had  offered  them  shelter.  Colonel  Morgan  had  been 
most  kind  and  sympathetic,  in  spite  of  differences  that 
had  occurred  with  father,  but  they  preferred  to  go  to 
their  kindred.  Friends  took  them  to  Crab  Orchard  and 
thence  to  Lebanon.  That  was  all. 

It  might  be  all,  but  the  tear  that  trickled  down  her  wan 
cheek  told  how  sorrowful  was  the  story.  How  little  did 
the  distant  North  know  of  the  suffering  and  despair  fall- 
ing alike  on  the  just  and  the  unjust,  the  innocent  and  the 
designing,  in  the  sunny  Southland  that  had  been  so  beau- 
tiful, so  proud,  a  twelvemonth  gone ! 

February  came,  and  further  convalescence,  and  news 
from  the  front.  Nothing  doing  in  the  way  of  campaign- 
ing, but  something  by  way  of  promotion.  Allis,  step- 
ping up  to  a  captaincy,  had  left  vacant  the  office  Freeman 
had  filled  the  month  of  the  fever.  Now  Rolfe  wrote  to 
tender  the  adjutancy  to  the  fast  recovering  subaltern  in 
Wharton's  charge  at  the  rear.  "How  soon  can  I  go, 
doctor?"  he  cried,  exultant.  "Next  week,  perhaps,"  said 
the  expert.  "Only  I  want  you  to  remember  one  thing — 
you've  got  to  look  out  for  that  shot-hole  in  the  leg;  it 
was  a  narrow  escape  for  the  artery.  Men  have  bled  to 
death  before  they  knew  they  were  hit.  That's  what 
killed  Sidney  Johnston  at  Shiloh.  Remember  this,  Free- 
man, and  perhaps  you  can  go  next  week."  Then,  catch- 
ing sight  of  a  face  at  the  doorway,  ne  sprang  hastily  to 
his  feet.  "Oh,  come  in,  Miss  Claiborne — come  in,  Mrs. 
Millordon."  (He  never  could  pronounce  her  name.) 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


"Freeman  here  is  talking  about  going  to  duty  to-morrow, 
and  I  am  telling  him  he  can  begin  to  talk  about  it  next 
week.  Come  in  and  we'll  have  some  tea.  Just  got  the 
loveliest  caddy  of  Oolong,  straight  from  home,  and  suf- 
fering to  have  you  share  it." 

The  girl  would  have  held  back;  the  aunt  prevailed. 
Tea,  real  tea,  wa.  an  almost  unknown  quantity  to  them 
now.  Was  it  the  long  weeks  of  hospital  life  that  had  told 
upon  the  girl's  health  and  spirits,  for  now,  as  they  came 
and  sat,  Kate  was  pale  and  silent.  Wharton  and  a  stew- 
ard, bustling  about,  soon  had  a  fragrant  brew  in  a 
cracked  but  serviceable  pot,  and  the  four  were  cozily 
grouped,  to  all  appearances,  when  another  caller  was 
announced.  Captain  Fulmer,  of  Thomas's  staff,  just  in 
from  camp  on  the  Shelbyville  Pike,  and  charged  to  see 
Freeman  and  take  anything  he  might  wish  to  send  north- 
ward. He  had  brought  in  prisoners  to  General  Rose- 
crans;  had  a  ten  days'  leave  to  run  home  and  see  "the 
folks"  at  Louisville,  and  was  to  call  at  Lebanon  and 
Liberty.  Was  there  anything  he  could  do  ? 

They  made  Fulmer  sit,  and  sip  hot  tea  and  tell  the 
tidings  from  the  front.  He  had  been  with  Palmer's  divi- 
sion within  twelve  hours,  and  with  Rolfe  and  "The  Chil- 
dren of  Israel,"  and  bore  many  cordial  messages  to  Free- 
man. There  was  talk  of  changes,  and  of  promotion  and 
resignation.  Bostwick  had  been  invited  by  his  division 
commander  to  vacate  his  office  and  go  home.  "Bos"  had 
applied,  it  seems,  for  a  leave  which  Palmer  disapproved. 
Then  "Bos"  tried  surgeon's  certilicate,  and  Palmer  nega- 
tived that  on  the  dictum  of  the  division  surgeon  that, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  221 

physically,  "Bos"  was  sound  as  a  button.  "Bos"  got 
wrathful,  and  otherwise  full,  and  things  looked  squally. 
Palmer  had  no  earthly  use  for  him  at  the  front,  but  "Bos" 
was  a  power  in  politics  at  home.  The  governor  was  try- 
ing to  smooth  matters  over,  but  it  looked  as  though 
"Bos"  would  have  to  stand  court  martial,  or  resign,  and 
his  own  regiment  didn't  seem  to  care  much  which. 

Then  came  a  question,  for  Fulmer  was  garrulous  as 
ever  and  tea  loosened  his  tongue :  "Freeman,  who  d'ye 
s'pose  I  saw  over  at  headquarters?  Your  special  friend 
Old  Pop  Eyes,  Colonel  Cutler.  What's  he  doing  here 
now?" 

Freeman  shook  his  head.  He  didn't  much  care.  This 
sort  of  talk  was  not  of  interest  to  ladies  anyway.  Ful- 
mer might  be  a  model  officer  in  camp  and  field,  but  he 
lacked  social  graces.  Fulmer  persisted.  It  might  be  that 
he  had  been  celebrating  the  gift  of  a  ten  days'  leave,  and 
the  tea  on  top  of  it  all  was  now  going  to  his  head.  Ful- 
mer talked  of  things  that  staff-officers  should  not  even 
seem  to  know  about. 

"You  never  hear  the  general  speak  ill  of  any  one,"  said 
he,  "but  if  there  is  a  man  he  dislikes  and  distrusts  it's 
that  same  Cutler.  Well,  I  must  be  going.  I'll  tell  'em  at 
Liberty  I  left  you  in  the  very  best  of  hands,"  and  with  a 
world  of  meaning  in  his  knowing  wink,  the  aide-de-camp 
decamped. 

Then  Freeman  turned  ruefully  to  look  for  Kate  Clai- 
borne.  She  had  risen  during  Fulmer's  voluble  monologue 
and  retired  quietly  to  the  rear  doorway.  She  was  stand- 
ing there  now,  half-shrinking  from  the  light,  lost  to 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


everything  within  the  room,  staring  fixedly  at  something 
or  somebody  without. 

Close  to  the  decrepit  old  gate,  his  back  toward  them, 
his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  his  hands  thrust  deep  into 
the  pockets  of  his  broad,  flapping  trousers,  scrutinizing 
the  windows,  doorways,  and  porch  of  that  opposite  house, 
where  lay  Captain  Claiborne  and  his  wounded  comrades, 
a  man  in  civilian  dress  was  making  deliberate  survey,  and 
something  in  his  burly  form  seemed  familiar  to  Freeman's 
eyes.  Presently  he  began  slowly  to  turn  toward  them, 
and  as  he  turned  Kate  Claiborne  shrank  farther  back  be- 
hind the  door,  and  Freeman  got  an  excellent  view  of  the 
intruder's  face.  In  spite  of  beard  and  disguise,  he  knew 
the  man  at  a  glance  —  the  soldier  called  O'Reilly  —  and  at 
the  sight  he  nearly  started  from  his  invalid  chair. 

"What  is  it,  Freeman?"  was  Wharton's  quick  demand. 

"See  that  man,  doctor?    He's  a  spy!" 

Wharton  sprang  to  his  feet  and  started  for  the  door. 
Instantly  Miss  Claiborne  turned  and  faced  him,  her  fea- 
tures pallid,  her  eyes  appealing. 

"Doctor,  you're  not  going  to  arrest  that  man  ?" 

"You  heard  what  Freeman  said,"  was  the  blunt  answer. 

"Spy  he  may  be.  Spying  he  is,  but  —  -not  for  the  South. 
Don't  touch  him,  doctor.  He  hates  us  enough  now,  and 
—  you  don't  know  what  harm  he  can  do  to  us  !" 

Mrs.  Millaudon  had  risen,  amazed  at  her  niece's  vehe- 
mence. Wharton  stood  and  looked  at  her  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"He  surely  has  no  business  prowling  about  my  hospi- 
tals," was  Wharton's  sturdy  answer,  when  he  had  recov- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


ered  himself.  "Let  me  by,  if  you  please."  Then  out  he 
went  into  the  keen  air  of  early  evening,  and  the  stranger 
coolly  faced  him. 

"Who  are  you,  sir,  and  what  are  you  doing  here?"  de- 
manded the  surgeon,  angrily. 

"Tending  strictly  to  my  business,  Doctor  Wharton.  By 
order,  as  you  will  see,"  and  with  impressive  triumph  he 
drew  forth  and  tendered  a  folded  paper,  "of  Major-gen- 
eral Rosecrans." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Captain  Claiborne  was  not  mending  as  he  should,  and 
Wharton  was  perplexed  and  troubled.  No  one  among 
the  hundreds  under  Wharton's  care  had  more  devoted 
nursing.  No  one  of  the  wounded,  but  for  his  years, 
should  have  progressed  more  steadily  toward  recovery, 
for  his  wound,  though  severe,  was  simple.  Freeman  was 
up  and  stumping  cheerily  about  the  porch  in  search  of  air 
and  sunshine,  and  a  face  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden 
walk,  for  as  Freeman  progressed  Kate  Claiborne  receded. 
Now  that  he  could  hobble  about  she  came  not  at  all,  even 
when  he  sent  word  his  eyes  were  so  wearied  looking  for 
her  that  now  he  could  not  read.  Miss  Claiborne's  excuse 
was  that  she  was  more  imperatively  needed  at  her  father's 
side.  For  a  man  who  was  known  to  be  deeply  in  love 
with  an  auburn-haired  girl  in  Kentucky  Freeman  was 
showing  uncommon  interest  in  the  dark-haired  lass  from 
Louisiana.  This,  though  most  reprehensible  in  a  lover, 
seems  to  lack  nothing  by  way  of  precedent,  and  "Charles 
O'Malley"  was  favorite  reading  in  the  Federal  army 
throughout  the  war,  and  was  not  unknown  in  that  of  the 
Southern  States. 

Ever  since  the  evening  of  his  annoying  encounter  with 
"the  man  O'Reilly"  in  the  back  yard  of  his  bailiwick, 
Wharton  had  been  studying  Katherine  Claiborne  with 
new  and  singular  interest.  Women  puzzled  him  not  a 
little  at  any  time,  but  Miss  Claiborne  had  him  "stumped," 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  225 

as  he  expressed  it,  now.  lie  could  not  understand  her. 
She  had  every  reason,  so  he  learned  from  Freeman,  to 
hate  O'Reilly,  yet  she  feared  and  pleaded  for  him,  and  her 
plea  was  based,  on  her  own  admission,  on  dread  of  what 
he  might  yet  do.  Freeman,  who  knew  of  his  prowling 
and  had  heard  of  his  misdeeds  at  the  Claibornes',  went 
so  far  as  to  declare  to  Doctor  Wharton  that  he  believed 
O'Reilly  had  very  much  to  do  with  the  burning  of  the 
homestead,  no  matter  who  said  he  was  in  Louisville  at. 
the  time.  Freeman  declared  that  O'Reilly  must  have 
been  of  the  gang  of  ruffians  he  had  encountered  the  night 
of  the  affray  on  the  west  fork ;  yet,  when  Doctor  Whar- 
ton carried  the  matter  up  to  general  headquarters  and 
complained  of  the  man  as  spying  about  his  hospitals,  and 
claiming  the  right  to  under  his  instructions,  the  medical 
director  conferred  with  the  new  chief  of  staff,  successor 
to  the  lamented  Garesche,  and  this  official  said  in  so  many 
words  that  O'Reilly  was  vouched  for  by  the  highest 
authority;  moreover,  that  he  had  unearthed  unimpeach- 
able testimony  against  certain  residents  of  Kentucky,  liv- 
ing under  government  protection,  yet  engaged  in  giving 
aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy.  Moreover,  he  was  on  the 
scent  of  other  and  worse  misdoings,  by  means  of  which 
General  Rosecrans  and  the  army  had  been  made  to  suffer. 
In  fact  he  was  an  invaluable,  if  possibly  unprepossessing, 
man,  and  when  next  Wharton  came  upon  O'Reilly  that 
invaluable  person  was  smoking  a  cigar  with  a  convales- 
cing captain  of  the  Pelican  Guards,  who  occupied  at  night 
the  cot  adjoining  Captain  Claiborne's,  and  O'Reilly  leered 
up  at  the  surgeon,  with  the  salutation :  "Well,  doc,  how'd 


226  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

you  come  out  in  the  matter  of  that  complaint?"  whereat 
Wharton  snapped  his  mouth  shut  and  passed  him  by  with 
barely  suppressed  blasphemy. 

Two  days  later,  and  as  the  guest  of  that  Pelican  cap- 
tain, Wharton  found  O'Reilly  seated  in  the  room  where 
Claiborne  lay,  and  Claiborne  from  that  instant  had  begun 
to  fail. 

Then  came  the  week  in  which  it  had  been  promised  that 
Freeman  should  set  forth  to  join  "The  Children  of 
Israel"  now  as  their  adjutant,  a  fact  that  seemed  to  have 
promoted  still  further  reaction  at  home,  if  mother's  let- 
ters were  any  criterion,  and  Freeman  was  divided  in 
mind  as  to  his  real  wishes.  There  was  a  lull  in  the  war. 
Bragg  and  Rosecrans  were  in  what  might  be  termed 
winter  quarters,  and  standing  at  gaze,  looking  for  the  best 
place  to  hit  the  other  when  the  roads  dried  in  the  spring. 
There  was  much  paper  work  in  camp  and  not  too  much 
drill,  for  the  rains  were  frequent,  and  the  roads  and 
fields  were  sandy  loam  and  deep  with  mud.  Freeman 
would  miss  little  active  service  at  the  front,  and  he  might 
be  of  some  kind  of  service  to  those  who  had  tried  to  serve 
him,  could  he  conscientiously  remain  here  a  week  or  so 
longer.  Wharton  wished  him  to  stay,  but  there  came  a 
day  and  a  question  that  brought  trouble. 

"Have  you  any — enemy — at  headquarters?"  he  sud- 
denly and  impressively  asked  Freeman,  one  February  eve- 
ning. 

"I  certainly  had,  and  he  probably  left  his  venom  be- 
hind," said  Freeman.  "I  mean  Cutler." 

"He's  been  gone  more  than  a  week,  stirring  things  else- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  22  7 

where,  I  suppose,  and  this  don't  seem  a  thing  he  could 
have  initiated." 

"What's  the  thing?"  asked  Freeman,  on  the  instant. 

"Why— it's  like  this,"  and  Wharton  hesitated,  "the 
medical  director  has  asked  me  rather  pointedly,  twice,  if 
some  of  my  preferred  patients  weren't  taking  a  long  time 
from  their  regiments,  and  at  last  I  asked  him  to  be  ex- 
plicit— give  me  a  case,  or  reason— so  to-day  he  asked 
flat-footed  if  I  didn't  think  you  could  have  gone  to  duty 
several  days  ago.  When  I  flared  up  and  said  no,  and  ex- 
postulated, he  shifted  the  blame  on  headquarters,  said  the 
adjutant-general  himself  had  intimated  that  he  had  re- 
ports to  the  effect  that  the  wound  had  healed,  and  there 
was  nothing  but — a  petticoat — between  you  and  duty. 
Now  don't  get  up  and  rear!" 

But  Freeman  had  got  up,  and  was  wrathfully  "rear- 
ing" in  good  earnest.  Freeman  was  mad  as  a  trampled 
nest  of  hornets,  and  was  for  going  at  once  and  having 
it  out  with  Old  Rosy  himself.  He  couldn't  walk  that 
far,  and  Wharton  wouldn't  give  him  an  ambulance,  so 
he  took  it  out  in  tremendous  vocabulary  and  unwarranta- 
ble exercise,  despite  Wharton's  efforts  to  soothe  him.  He 
brought  on  a  night  of  fever  and  sleeplessness  for  which 
Wharton  was  utterly  unprepared.  Coming  in  at  mid- 
night from  a  visit  to  Claiborne's  bedside,  he  found  Free- 
man up  and  composing  the  tenth  essay  at  a  very  dis- 
composing missive  to  the  adjutant-general,  in  which  he 
demanded  a  court  of  inquiry  on  his  own  case  and  court 
martial  for  his  slanderous  accusers. 

"Now,  this  won't  do,  Freeman,"  said  Wharton.     "I 


128  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

was  a  damned  fool  to  tell  you,  but  I  never  dreamed 
you'd  take  on  like  this.  A  queer  thing  grew  out  of  it. 
I  \vas  trying  to  comfort  old  Claiborne  over  yoqder,  and 
told  him  even  in  our  service  officers  were  wronged  and 
misjudged,  and  as  an  instance  gave  him  something — not 
all,  of  course — of  what  they  said  of  you,  whereupon  that 
excitable  Pelican,  Captain  Lafitte,  began  swearing  in 
French,  and  said  things  that  worried  Claiborne,  for  he 
answered  back,  and  the  next  thing  I  knew  my  two  pa- 
tients were  jabbering  at  each  other  in  a  lingo  that  was 
Greek  to  me,  and  then  Miss  Kate  came  flying  in  (What 
beautiful  hair  she  has!),  all  distress;  interposed  between 
them,  and  placed  her  hand  on  her  father's  mouth,  and 
looted  drawn  daggers  at  Pelican — he  was  yawping  about 
a  young  Lieutenant  Millordon,  and  it's  plain  as  a  pike- 
staff Lafitte's  simply  dead  gone  on  that  plucky  girl,  and 
she  won't  look  at  him.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  it, 
YQU  speak  French  and  I  don't." 

It  was  late  at  night,  after  twelve,  when  the  doctor  en- 
tered. It  was  much  later  when  he  left.  He  had  hoped 
to  get  Freeman  to  bed  and  to  sleep,  but  the  excitement 
was  not  over.  It  had  begun  to  drizzle,  but  over  the  drip,, 
drip  of  the  water  in  the  old-fashioned  wooden  trough 
beneath  the  eaves,  and  the  steady  pour  into  the  cistern, 
there  could  be  heard  at  regular  intervals  the  odd  call  of 
the  sentries  as  they  reached  the  end  oi  their  assigned  and 
measured  posts — the  "About"  that,  passed  from  man  to 
rnan,  provided  against  their  walking  in  opposite  direc- 
tions and  leaving  a  space  unguarded.  It  was  a  bit  of 
sentry-duty  that  grew  out  of  the  conditions  of  the  Civil 


The    Rock  of  Chickamauga.  119 

War,  yet  has  never  appeared  upon  the  pages  of  instruc- 
tion. It  was  especially  in  vogue  when  sentries  sur- 
rounded a  prison-camp,  and  here  at  Murfreesboro  many 
of  the  prisoners  were  by  this  time  fit  for  duty  with  the 
colors,  and  some  of  them  were  seeking  means  to  escape. 
This  very  week  came  rumors  of  raiding  parties  of  South- 
ern Horse,  sweeping  around  the  flanks  of  the  advanced 
divisions  and  striking  at  anything  valuable — trains, 
tracks,  bridges,  or  convoys — at  the  rear.  A  daring  col- 
umn of  Wheeler's  brigade  had  even  swooped  upon  the 
pickets  south  and  east  of  the  big  field-hospital  here  on 
the  banks  of  Stone's  River.  What  if  wholesale  jail  de- 
livery were  contemplated? 

"Double  the  outposts  and  order  the  sentries  to  fire  if 
the  first  challenge  is  not  heeded,"  were  the  instructions 
of  the  field-orficer  of  the  day,  and  an  access  of  nervous- 
ness on  the  part  of  the  sentries  showed  how  seriously 
they  took  the  word.  "One  fellow  nearly  jabbed  me  with 
his  bayonet  going  into  my  own  hospital,"  the  doctor  was 
telling  Freeman,  as  he  mixed  a  soothing  draft.  Then 
suddenly  set  down  the  cup. 

"Hello!    What's  that?" 

There  was  sound  of  scurrying  footfalls  on  the  garden 
walk,  following  a  struggle,  a  smothered  altercation,  and, 
as  Wharton  sprang  to  the  doorway,  he  was  amazed  to 
meet  Kate  Claiborne,  disheveled,  with  the  rain-drops  on 
her  dusky  hair  and  coursing  down  her  pallid  face.  Be- 
hind her,  dripping,  remonstrant,  and  nearly  out  of  breath, 
came  her  aunt. 

"What  on  earth "  began  Wharton, 


230  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"Oh,  doctor,  let  me  in !  I — I  know  Mr.  Freeman  is  up, 
and  I  must  see  you  about  father,  and  Aunt  Marie  is  de- 
termined I  shall  not " 

"It  is  that  I  offered  to  come  myself — me,  dear  doctor. 
It  is  that  a  demoiselle  should  not,"  gasped  poor  Madame 
Millaudon. 

"You  may  .come  if  you  will,  Aunt  Marie,"  interrupted 
the  girl  excitedly,  "but  you  do  not  conceive  the  danger, 
and  I  must  explain." 

"Come  in,  both  of  you.  Yes,  sergeant" — this  to  the 
non-commissioned  officer  who  came,  dripping,  to  the 
porch  to  demand  the  meaning  of  this  strange  visitation. 
"This  is  my  affair,  and  I  will  be  responsible.  Tell  the 
officer  of  the  guard  it  is  Madame  Millordon,  and  her 
niece,  to  see  me  on  important  business.  Come  in,  ladies, 
and,  first  thing,  we  will  have  some  tea.  Then  you  shall 
tell  me." 

"But,  no;  it  must  be  told  at  once,  for  back  to  my 
stricken  brother  must  I  fly,"  said  madame, -and  would 
have  added  more  but  that  the  blood  of  the  Claibornes 
was  up  and  would  not  be  denied.  Kate's  eyes  were 
flashing  as  she  began,  but  speedily  they  dimmed  with 
tears. 

"It  is  this,  doctor :  My  father  is  dying  here,  and  there 
is  but  one  way  in  which  to  save  him.  He  cannot  do 
harm.  He  can  never  take  up  arms  again.  Oh,  is  it  not 
possible  to  take  him  away  from  here — beyond  these  lines 
— back  to  the  South — his  home  ?  There  I  can  nurse  him 
to  life  again.  Here — they  will  kill  him." 

"My  dear  Miss  Claiborne,  how  can  we  proceed?    The 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  231 

South  refuses  exchange  to  broken-down  soldiers.  Your 
father  probably  could  never  march  again.  Your  people, 
or  rather  your  government,  excuse  me,  would  be  glad 
enough  to  take  him  otherwise." 

"Would  they  not  exchange  him  at  once  if  I  saw  Gen- 
eral Bragg?"  she  demanded.  "Let  me  tell  my  story  to 
him  and  you  will  see  how  quickly  they  will  act.  Can- 
not /go?  Cannot  /  see  General  Rosecrans,  and  be  al- 
lowed to  go  through  the  lines?  In  two  days  I  should 
be  back  with  General  Bragg's  request.  Surely  you  have 
captains  there  you  would  be  glad  to  have  back  in  ex- 
change for  him." 

"No  doubt  of  that,  eh,  Freeman  ?"  answered  Wharton. 
"But,  pardon  me  now,  Miss  Claiborne,  if  I  ask  a  ques- 
tion. Here  your  father  has  the  best  attendance  your  own 
surgeons  or  I  can  give  him.  Here  he  has  better  food 
and  medicine  than  he  could  get  if  farther  south.  Here 
he  has  his  sister  and  you.  Wherein  would  it  benefit  him 
to  take  a  rough  ride  to  Tullahoma,  since  you  can  offer 
nothing  as  good  as  he  can  have  inside  our  lines?" 

"Because  he  knows,  and  I  know,  he  can  never  be  safe 
so  long  as  he  is  within  those  lines." 

"Nonsense,  dear  young  lady!  If  need  be,  we'll  treble 
the  guard  about  him,  and  keep  him  protected  against  any 
possible  harm." 

"Except  the  one  I  dread.  Oh,  doctor,  it's  the  fear  of 
what  you  yourselves  may  be  ordered  to  do  that  is  killing 
him  and  me.  Mr.  Freeman,  you  understand,"  she  cried 
at  last,  turning,  appealing,  to  the  young  soldier,  who 


232  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

had  quit  his  chair  at  her  coming  and  was  standing  silent, 
sad-faced,  and  confounded. 

"I  understand?  Why,  Miss  Claiborne,  I  cannot  imag- 
ine what  could  be  brought  against  him." 

"Oh!"  she  sobbed.  "You  saw,  or  heard,  the  night  of 
your  last  visit — the  time  of  the  assault.  There  were  two 
gentlemen,  Southern  men — there,  in  the  house.  They 
had  appealed  to  father  for  protection,  for  a  place  to  hide. 
They  had  been  suspected,  pursued.  What  could  be  do 
but  shelter  them  ?  Then  others  had  come  to  him  at  other 
times,  and — papers  had  been  left  with  him — for  others 
still.  Don't  you  see  what  an  enemy  could  make  of  all 
this?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
plash  of  the  rain  without  and  the  half-stifled  sobbing  of 
poor  Madame  Millaudon.  Then  the  doctor  spoke,  for 
Freeman  in  distress  could  offer  no  word. 

"My  poor  child,  if  the  half  of  what  you  tell  me  were 
true,  how  could  we  let  your  father  go?" 

And  then,  realizing  perhaps  for  the  first  time  how 
much  she  had  revealed,  the  girl  glanced  swiftly  from 
Freeman's  half-averted  eyes  to  the  doctor's  grave  and 
troubled  face.  Then,  with  sudden,  despairing,  moaning 
cry,  reeled  to  the  doorway  and  dropped  senseless  on  the 
threshold.  They  threw  themselves  about  her  at  once, 
Wharton  first;  but  suddenly  he  looked  up,  startled,  for 
the  nervous  yell  of  a  near-by  sentry  rang  thrillingly  on 
the  air : 

"Haiti    Who  goes  there?" 

A  crash  of  fence-panel,  a  scurry  of  feet,  was  the  only 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  233 

answer.  "Halt,  I  say!" — the  same  voice  again,  and  al- 
most on  top  of  it  the  shout  of  a  sergeant :  "Shoot,  damn 
you  !  if  you  see  him !"  Then,  "bang !"  and  a  rush  of  men 
through  the  lower  yard ;  a  fierce,  short  struggle ;  a  volley 
of  blasphemy ;  a  loud,  "Hands  off,  you  infernal  fool !" 
Then  awkward  silence.  Then,  slow,  abashed,  reluctant, 
the  return  of  the  little  band  of  guardsmen,  three  or  four, 
the  sergeant  scowling  in  their  midst. 

"What  was  it?"  hailed  Wharton,  as  he  looked  up  from 
the  pallid  face,  still  humbly  pillowed  there  in  the  door- 
way, only  his  strong,  sustaining  hand  between  the  pros- 
trate head  and  the  boarding. 

"I  seen  a  feller  go  sneaking  away  as  the  door  bust 
open,"  began  a  sentry,  "and  I  had  my  orders " 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  who  was  it?"  demanded  Wharton 
curtly,  the  light  of  a  new  discovery  in  his  eyes. 

"That  Mister  O'Reilly,"  answered  the  sergeant,  in  sul- 
len disgust;  "sneakin'  secret  service,  an'  be  damned  to 
it — and  him!" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"There's  no  sense  in  your  fussing  this  way,  Freeman," 
Doctor  Wharton  was  saying,  on  a  fine,  crisp,  frosty  Feb- 
ruary morning,  a  few  days  later.  "You've  got  what 
you've  been  wanting  for  weeks — orders  to  rejoin  your 
regiment — and  now  you  want  to  stay  here  and  fight 
somebody  when  nobody  else  here  wants  to  fight.  When 
you've  been  half  as  long  in  the  soldier  business  as  I  have 
you'll  know  it's  useless  trying  to  get  satisfaction  out  of 
superior  headquarters.  You  want  to  convince  somebody 
up  there  that  somebody's  done  you  injustice.  Now,  the 
best  way,  in  my  opinion,  is  to  limp  along  to  your  regi- 
ment. I'll  straighten  the  other  matter  out." 

"You  couldn't  straighten  out  your  own  squabble,"  an- 
swered Freeman  tartly.  "They  beat  you  hands  down 
when  you  renewed  your  complaint  against  that  black- 
guard O'Reilly." 

"Simply  because  I  couldn't  prove  what  I  said,  and 
that,  'fore  God,  I  believe — that  he  was  spying  and  listen- 
ing at  our  door;  not  watching  the  other,  as  he  claimed. 
But  I'll  nail  that  man  yet,  Freeman,  no  matter  who's 
behind  him.  Now,  you  stump  over  and  say  good-by  to 
the  Claibornes.  They'd  give  'most  anything  to  be  going 
where  you  are." 

Ruefully  Freeman  had  obeyed.  Life  looked  full  of  ir- 
ritation, misunderstanding,  vexation,  again.  Some  un- 
seen, insidious  power  seemed  ever  busy  involving  him  in 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  235 

new  mischief,  enmeshing  him  in  a  net  of  circumstance 
that  involved  all  about  him — all  in  whom  he  felt  the  faint- 
est interest.  His  eyes  had  been  startlingly  opened  as  to 
the  probable  character  of  Claiborne's  callers  of  the  year 
before.  The  revelations  of  that  midnight  visit,  of  the 
half-distracted  girl,  had  well-nigh  confounded  the  young 
officer.  It  seemed  difficult  to  think  of  the  gray-haired, 
dignified,  broken-down  gentleman  as  consorting  with 
known  spies  or  willingly  making  his  house  their  ren- 
dezvous or  even  their  refuge,  and,  as  for  Kate's  com- 
plicity in  such  uncanny  traffic,  Freeman  scouted  it  from 
the  start. 

Very  possibly  Claiborne  had  been  induced  to  give 
shelter  to  young  gallants  who  had  cast  their  lot  with  the 
South,  but  had  not  yet  received  either  their  commissions 
or  their  regimentals.  Very  possibly  he  had  received  let- 
ters, and  passed  them,  for  these  hotspurs  of  the  border 
States,  and  one  thing  had  led  on  to  another  until  the 
homestead  was  burned  over  his  head,  and  he,  when  al- 
most too  old  for  the  duty,  had  drawn  sword  as  a  captain 
in  Confederate  service,  and  now,  when  friends  on  both 
sides  would  have  been  glad  to  see  him  exchanged,  some 
secret  yet  powerful  influence  stood  in  the  way. 

Against  the  policy  of  the  Southern  officials,  General 
Bragg  had  answered  the  daughter's  written  appeal,  sent 
through  the  lines  under  flag  of  truce,  offering  in  ex- 
change for  the  crippled  veteran  who  could  fight  no  more 
a  vehement,  vigorous  young  soldier  of  the  Union  who 
was  full  of  it,  and,  to  the  dismay  of  Claiborne's  friends, 
the  reply  of  General  Rosecrans  was  that  the  matter  would 


236  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

have  to  be  referred  to  Washington.  Then,  indeed,  it 
looked  as  though  Claiborne  were  seriously  involved,  and 
further  proceedings  were  in  contemplation. 

Then  Freeman  had  a  letter  from  his  colonel  that  gave 
him  grave  uneasiness.  "Did  you  recover  the  note-book 
and  letters  lost  from  your  overcoat  in  the  flood  on  the 
north  fork  ?"  was  one  question.  "I  ask  because  of  a  queer 
story  that  I've  been  trying  to  run  to  earth."  Freeman 
had  not  recovered  them,  nor  had  he  heard  anything  of 
them.  He  had  come  to  believe  them  buried  deep  in  the 
mud,  and  a  total  loss.  Better  that,  he  thought,  than  that 
they  should  fall  into  unfriendly  hands.  The  letters  seemed 
innocent  enough  at  the  time.  There  were  four  of  them, 
as  he  remembered,  stoutly  tied,  and  the  uppermost  was 
addressed  "Honorable  John  B.  Radford,  Crab  Orchard, 
Kentucky."  Claiborne  had  said  to  him  that  night  of  the 
cloudburst :  "I'll  get  you  across  if  I  can,  lieutenant,  but 
it  looks  as  though  there'd  be  no  moving  out  of  here  for 
me  this  day  or  two,  so  if  you  can  run  these  on  to  Crab 
Orchard  to-night  or  to-morrow  morning  it  will  put  us 
square." 

Never  at  the  moment  had  Freeman  suspected  anything 
amiss.  The  topmost  letter  was  addressed  by  Claiborne 
himself,  for  Freeman  knew  his  writing.  The  "Honorable 
John  B.  Radford"  was  a  Kentuckian  of  unquestionable 
integrity,  if  not  a  pronounced  Union  man.  It  was  barely 
two  miles  from  camp  to  Crab  Orchard,  and  Freeman  had 
agreed,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  flat  memorandum-book  he  valued  because  he  had 
long  carried  it,  at  home  and  abroad,  and  because  of  its 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  237 

contents — some  treasured  relics  of  youthful  days  and 
three  prettily  penned  missives  from  The  Oaks  in  the  hand 
of  Frances  Morgan.  But  what  queer  story  could  be 
woven  from  these,  and  who  was  the  weaver  ? 

There  had  come  still  another  letter,  from  mother,  away 
in  New  York,  and  this,  too,  breathed  a  note  of  alarm. 
"Edgar,  my  boy,"  she  said,  "I  hope  you  have  not  been 
imprudent,  but  I  cannot  help  feeling  anxious.  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan's latest  letter,  very  sweetly  acknowledging  some 
trifles  we  ventured  to  send  for  them,  spoke  so  guardedly 
of  you;  indeed,  with  something  like  constraint;  and  in 
answer  to  one  I  wrote  to  General  Thomas,  thanking  him 
for  his  commendation  of  our  boy,  and  begging  him  to 
keep  a  watchful  eye  upon  you,  he  says  he  hopes  soon  to 
see  you  restored  to  the  regiment,  'where  influences  will 
be  far  more  promotive  of  your  interest  than  those  into 
which  you  have  been  thrown  of  late.  'There  are  days,' 
he  goes  on  to  say,  (as  I  myself  have  discovered,  when  an 
officer's  conduct  must  not  only  be,  but  seem,  so  far  above 
suspicion  that  even  the  envious  cannot  question  or  en- 
emies asperse-  it.'  Edgar,  who  are  the  Claibornes,  and 
what  do  you  really  know  of  them?" 

"Who  are  those  Claibornes?"  Had  he  not  frankly  and 
fully  tried  to  tell  the  anxious  mother  all  that  he  knew 
on  that  head?  Why  should  she  now  revive  the  question, 
when  in  view  of  Kate  Claiborne's  words  it  was  much 
less  easy  to  answer? 

But  he  was  going  now  to  bid  the  Claibornes  adieu. 
Only  once,  and  for  a  flitting  moment  at  that,  had  he  seen 
Miss  Claiborne  since  her  midnight  coming,  with  Aunt 


238  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Marie,  to  that  eventful  meeting.  She  had  gone  the  very 
next  morning,  and  Colonel  Fry,  of  Kentucky,  had  been 
her  escort  and  friend,  to  beg  of  General  Rosecrans  that 
her  letter  be  forwarded  to  General  Bragg.  When  the 
answer  came  she  was  for  the  moment  radiant  with  hope. 
When  the  announcement  was  made  that,  after  all,  the 
matter  would  have  to  be  referred  to  Washington,  she  was 
stricken  almost  with  despair,  and  since  then  had  not  left 
her  father's  bedside  except  to  rest  at  odd  hours  in  the 
room  that  had  been  set  apart  for  these  sorrowing  women. 
It  had  now  three  occupants,  the  third  being  the  wife  of 
a  wounded  colonel,  whose  condition  had  become  so  criti- 
cal that  her  prayers  were  answered  and  she,  too,  had  been 
passed  through  the  lines. 

Freeman  gave  his  card  to  a  soldier-nurse  and  bade 
him  ask  if  the  ladies  would  see  him,  as  he  had  come  to 
say  good-by.  He  found  Madame  Millaudon  at  the  head 
of  the  open  stairway  to  the  upper  gallery,  and,  as  it  was 
too  cold  for  out-of-door  conferences,  she  led  him  to  the 
bare  little  apartment  which  had  become  their  prison- 
home.  "Will  you  seat  yourself  ?"  she  asked,  as  she  noted 
how  heavily  he  leaned  upon  the  stout  cane.  "Kate  is  with 
her  father.  She  will  come  soon."  There  was  a  simple 
bureau  and  mirror  by  the  window.  An  old-fashioned 
wash-stand,  with  chintz  cover,  stood  opposite.  A  rag 
carpet,  two  wooden  chairs,  and  a  stove  completed  the 
furniture.  Three  hospital-cots,  folded,  leaned  against  the 
wall,  and  the  bedding  had  been  carried  to  the  side  gallery. 
The  room  was  barely  ten  feet  square  and  was  barely 
furnished,  yet  a  dozen  women  envied  those  three  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  239 

privilege  of  being  there  and  near  the  wounded  men  they 
loved.  Freeman  lowered  himself  slowly  into  the  indi- 
cated chair  and  asked  first  for  the  captain.  Madame 
Millaudon  could  only  slowly  shake  her  head.  Then,  at 
the  open  doorway,  a  faint  color  in  her  wan  cheek,  stood 
Kate.  Freeman  struggled  to  rise,  and  she  saw  the  ef- 
fort, stepped  quickly  forward  as  though  to  place  her 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  suddenly  withdrew  it,  and  said: 
"Please  don't  try."  And  then,  standing  there,  looked 
down  at  the  young  knight  once  again  in  presentable  uni- 
form and  properly  groomed.  "How  kind  of  you  to  come 
as  soon  as  you  could  move  about,"  was  all  she  found  it 
possible  to  say. 

He  held  forth  his  hand  for  hers,  and  she  gave  it  slowly, 
and  would  have  withdrawn  it  quickly,  but  he  did  not  at 
once  surrender.  "May  I  see  your  father,  too,  before  I 
go?"  he  asked. 

"Go  ?  Go  where  ?  Which  way,  I  mean  ?"  was  the  sud- 
den answer,  all  question,  all  startled  surprise,  and,  in 
spite  of  gallant  effort  at  recovery,  all  distress. 

"To  my  regiment,"  he  said  simply.  Then,  with  ir- 
repressible feeling:  "They  do  me  the  honor  at  head- 
quarters to  insinuate  that  I  am  shirking." 

"I  never  dreamed  of  your  thinking  of  going — so  soon," 
she  faltered,  and  her  eyes  fled  from  his,  her  young  heart 
fluttered.  Then,  for  something  had  to  be  said :  "Where 
is  the  regiment  now,  and  is  Colonel  Rolfe  still  in  com- 
mand ?" 

"Some  ten  miles  away  to  the  southwest,  and  Rolfe  is 


240  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


there.     I'll  tell  him  you  asked  for  him.    And  how  is  Cap- 
tain Claiborne  to-day?" 

"No  better."  This  with  sorrowful  shake  of  the  head, 
"And  it  is  so  hard  to  cheer  him.  He — he  wants  to  see 

you,  but — but "  and  she  returned  to  the   door  an4 

looked  down  the  narrow  hallway,  "the  others  are  still 
there." 

Then  up  rose  Aunt  Marie.  "I  will  go  speak  with  the 
Captain  Lafitte,"  said  she.  "I  shall  invite  him  to  the 
view.  See,  the  sunshine  is  superb,  and  one  sees  afar." 
It  proved  an  inspiration.  It  was  not  long  before,  in  mod- 
ulated yet  eager  tone,  she  was  heard  conducting  her  fel- 
low citizen  of  New  Orleans  along  the  passageway  and 
out  to  the  gallery.  The  attention  was  unusual  and  flat- 
tering. JMadame  had  noticed  him  but  casually  since  the 
altercation  in  which  her  brother  had  been  involved.  There 
was  another  occupant  of  the  improvised  ward,  as  Kate 
slowly  led  freeman  in,  but  he  lay,  poor  fellow,  in  semi- 
stupor,  and  Claiborne  seemed  to  mind  him  not  at  ail 
The  long,  thin,  white  hand  extended  to  clasp  that  of  tht 
Northern  soldier  was  pitiably  weak,  but  Claiborne's  eyes 
were  almost  brilliant  in  their  eagerness. 

"Bend  down,"  he  whispered,  the  moment  greetings 
were  over.  "I  want  no  one  to  hear  but  you."  And  as 
Freeman  awkwardly  obeyed,  one  stiff  leg  refusing  to 
bend:  "Lieutenant,"  he  asked,  "have  you  ever  heard 
anything  of  those  letters  ?" 

"I  think  I  told  you  long  ago  that  they  were  lost  in  the 
flood;  probably  swept  out  of  the  overcoat  pocket,"  was 
the  evasive  answer. 


The  Rack  of  Chickamauga.  241 

"I  know  you  did/'  and  the  Southerner's  manner  be- 
came impatient,  almost  irritable ;  "that's  why  I'm  asking 
now.  Have  you  ever  heard  anything  to  indicate  that 
they  had  been  found?" 

"Until  yesterday,"  said  Freeman  slowly,  "not  so  much 
as  a  word." 

"But  yesterday What?"  And  Claiborne's  hand 

was  clutching  nervously  at  the  shabby  coverlet. 

"A  letter  from  Colonel  Rolfe  asking  me  if  I  had  ever 
succeeded  in  finding  them,  and  saying  there  was  a  queer 
story  afloat." 

"Tell  me  the  story,"  whispered  Claiborne,  and  the  pale 
face  had  grown  gray,  the  hand  was  trembling  violently. 

"I  would  if  I  knew  it,  but  I  don't,"  was  the  answer. 

"Then  tell  me  what  you — suspect." 

Freeman  turned  and  looked  up  into  Katherine's  face, 
almost  in  appeal.  She  stood  with  one  hand  pressed  over 
her  heart;  the  other  seemed  groping  for  support.  He 
took  it  with  his  left  and  placed  and  held  it  on  his  own 
shoulder. 

"Captain,  I  fear  that  those  lexers  were  taken  from 
my  overcoat  pocket,  and  by  your  enemy  and  mine. 
Colonel  Cutler  and  that  man  O'Reilly  both  had  access  to 
it.  If  there  was  anything  in  those  letters  to  harm  you, 
it  is  all  known." 

"To  harm  me !"  gasped  Claiborne.  -'That  is  not  the 
half.  There  was  matter  there  involving  people  I  would 
not  have  brought  to  harm — you  would  not  have  seen 
harmed — for  anything  we  possessed.  They  could  harm 
even — you." 


242  The  Rock  of  Chickarhauga. 

"Then  it's  past  praying  for,"  said  Freeman  simply. 
"Was  it  quite  a  square  thing  to  make  me  the  bearer  ?" 

The  hand  on  his  shoulder  pressed  heavily.  He  could 
tell  that  the  girl  was  silently  weeping. 

"It  would  have  been  contemptible  had  I  known.  I  did 
not  learn  their  contents  until  later.  They  were  given  me 
by — Donald  Morgan." 

"Then  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  miserable  anxiety  of  his 
poor  people,"  said  Freeman  quietly.  "He  has  been  build- 
ing up  a  case  against  himself,  a  case  for  the  gallows,  if 
what  I  fear  and  hear  is  true.  You  know  he's  been  taken 
North  to  prison." 

"I  knew  he  was  sent  North.  I  know  with  what  he  will 
be  charged,"  and  now  the  unresisting  hand  on  the  shoul- 
der bore  still  more  heavily.  Was  it  that  she  was  trying  to 
signal — to  communicate  ? 

"Father,  dear  father,"  she  bent  and  murmured  to  him, 
"you  are  talking  too  much.  You  must  not  agitate  your- 
self. Mr.  Freeman  fully  understands.  He  has  even  tried 
to  help  us — has  tried  to  keep  that  man  away." 

"That  man  has  dogged  me  ever  since  the  day  he  came 
first  with  that  cold-blooded  scoundrel,  Cutler.  I  had 
knowingly  done  nothing  up  to  that  time  against  the  Fed- 
eral government  or  its  officers.  And  now,  with  Donald 
Morgan  to  be  tried,  and  those  letters  in  the  hands  of  the 
government,  it  is  only  a  question  of  days  or  hours  when 
they  arraign  me." 

"What's  that  about  Donald  Morgan?"  asked  a  quiet 
voice  at  the  door,  as  Wharton  came  strolling  unconcern- 
edly in  from  the  wintry  sunshine.  "A  nice  piece  of  news 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga  243 

we've  been  getting  to-day!  Our  people  were  too  de- 
liberate in  moving  that  young,  gentleman  across  the 
Ohio.  Joe  Wheeler  and  his  raiders  cut  out  that  train 
close  to  Bowling  Green,  and  Mr.  Don — confound  him  for 
all  the  bother  he  has  cost  us ! — is  back  across  the  Cum- 
berland Mountains — good  for  more  mischief." 

"Then,"  said  the  invalid  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  "it 
is  useless  for  me  to  hope  to  get  away.  It  is  all  hopeless." 

And  then  Aunt  Marie  came  hurrying  in,  Captain  La- 
fitte  close  following,  and  distress  was  in  her  eyes.  "A 
squad  of  Yankee  soldiers,"  said  Lafitte,  "coming  down 
the  path." 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  a  voice  at  the  opposite  entrance, 
"coming  down  the  path,  and  up  the  stairs,  and  into  this 
room,  if  I  say  so,  and  guarding  every  possible  exit 
against  our  interesting  invalid  here."  And  without  fur- 
ther ceremony,  even  to  doffing  his  hat,  O'Reilly,  the  ex- 
soldier,  came  sauntering  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

There  was  trouble  in  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  and 
it  wasn't  Old  Rosy's  fault.  Ever  since  the  summoning 
of  Halleck  to  Washington  there  had  been  worry  for  more 
than  one  army  leader  in  the  field,  and  what  was  trouble 
for  him  meant  trouble  for  his.  The  new  brains-in-chief 
of  the  military  establishment  had  impressed  his  indi- 
viduality and  views,  in  spite  of  distance,  on  the  various 
commanders  at  the  front,  and  not  one  of  them  had  been 
allowed  freedom  of  action.  Even  Grant,  cutting  loose 
from  the  great  river  and  swinging  at  Jackson,  and  the 
Mississippi  Central,  in  a  brief  campaign  replete  with  bril- 
liant generalship  and  stirring  victory,  had  achieved  his 
success  only  after  shutting  his  ears  to  the  click  of  the  tele- 
graph. Like  Nelson  at  Copenhagen,  he  would  not  see 
restraining  orders  until  he  had  fought  and  won  his  battle. 

But  there  had  been  no  such  luck  for  the  Army  oi  he 
Cumberland.  From  the  start  it  had  been  cumbered  by 
contradictory  orders.  When  sending  it  east  from  Cor- 
inth to  Chattanooga,  Halleck  demanded  that  it  should 
repair  every  inch  of  the  long  railway.  Buell  begged 
and  protested.  It  meant  piteous  delay.  Halleck  would 
have  it.  The  road  was  mended;  the  opportunity  lost. 
Bragg  had  started  north.  Buell  had  to  follow,  and  the 
road,  newly  stocked  and  for  the  first  time  in  its  history 
in  capital  running  order,  was  handed  over  to  the  South, 
as  pretty  and  valuable  a  present  as  it  had  yet  received. 


Trie  Rock  of  thickarfiaiiga1. 


then  followed  the  controversy  in  Reritucky.  Then 
Biiell's  relief.  Then  orders  to  Old  Rosy  to  strike  at  East 
Tennessee,  and  OJd  Rosy  kfiew  that  tiiat  would  simply 
leave  open  house  for  the  main  body  in  West  Tennessee, 
where  Bragg  was  in  force.  And  then  came  Mu'ffrees- 
bbro,  a  victory  snatched  fforh1  tne  jaws  of  defeat.  Theti,- 
cieriiand  fof  something  more  when  the  squashy,  sanely, 
loainy  roads  let  the  gun-wheels  down  to  the  hubs,  and 
stalled  every  battery  that  tried  therri.  And  then,  witli 
the  coming  of  March,  wefit  a  letter  from  "Old  Brains" 
to  those  two  a'rrhy  commanders  far  to  the  west  —  Grant 
on  the  Mississippi,  Rosecrans  at  Mu'rfreesboro  —  promis- 
ing the  vacant  ma'jor-gerieralship  iri  the  regular  army  to 
the  first  army  conimah'def  to  win  a  signal  victory.  Grant 
read,  pocketed,  and  said  nothing.  Rosecrans  read,  pro- 
tested, arid  stormed  at  trie  lawyer-soldier  installed  at  the 
war  department.  Rosecrans  refused  to  be  "degraded  by 
such  auctioneering  of  honors,"  arid  so  the  breach  was 
widened.  Then  Rosecrans  stood  up  for  Thomas,  as  Biiell 
had  done  before  him,  arid  Thomas  had  done  fof  both  ancl 
would  have  done  for  any  b'h6  of  "the  officers  appointed 
over  hirh,"  as  his  oath'  provided.  And  so  it  happened  that 
there  was  no  powerful  friend  at  court  to  speak  for  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberla'fid,  and  when  it  faihed  it  pou'red. 

It  always  poured  when'  anything  was  to  be  done  iri 
Tennessee.  The  foa'ds  were  quagmires  all  that  Spririg, 
arid  even  the  long-legged  cavalry  of  Forrest  a'nd  Wheeler 
had  difficulty  getting  about.  Forrest  said  they  won  by 
swirnmirig.  There  were  months  in  which  nothing  in  the 
way  of  marching  could  be  attempted.  As  for  battling, 


246  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

that  would  have  been  madness,  unless  the  entrenched 
Confederates  could  be  induced  to  muzzle  their  batteries, 
in  sportsmanlike  deference  to  the  fact  that  mud  had  muz- 
zled ours.  So  there  came  long  weeks  of  prodding  from 
the  rear,  and  protest  from  the  front,  and  prophecies  that 
the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  would  never  again  be  got 
to  fight,  and  all  the  glory  would  go  to  Grant  and  the 
Army  of  the  Tennessee,  etc.,  etc.,  and  more  tempers  be- 
came testy,  and  camp  language  and  manners  impolite, 
and  this  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  Ruddy  Rolfe's  big 
regiment  as  Freeman  was  settling  down  to  his  new 
duties,  and  Freeman,  it  may  be  said  at  once,  had  come 
back  to  them  in  no  companionable  mood.  It  was,  in  fact, 
in  great  dejection,  from  which  Rolfe  vainly  strove  to  lift 
him. 

The  cutting-out  expedition  by  means  of  which  that 
peculiarly  light-riding  trooper,  "Point"  Wheeler,  had 
rescued  Lieutenant  Don  Morgan,  and  certain  other  de- 
sirable young  Southern  officers,  had  much  exasperated 
the  secretary  of  war.  Scathing  comments  did  he  make, 
and  bitter  things  did  he  say  as  to  certain  of  our  generals 
in  the  Middle  West,  accusing  them  of  being  far  more 
loyal  to  family  ties  than  to  these  United  States.  Some- 
body certainly  had  induced  General  Rosecrans  to  consent 
to  young  Morgan's  being  taken  from  the  cars  at  Nash- 
ville and,  with  certain  other  Southern  officers,  held  at 
local  hospitals  for  treatment  and  recuperation  before 
being  sent  from  a  moderate  climate  to  the  raw  and  rig- 
orous wintry  winds  that  swept  the  prison-camps  on  the 
shores  of  Lakes  Erie  and  Michigan.  It  was  done  on 


The  ROCK  of  Chickamauga.  247 

the  initiative  of  a  merciful  medical  director,  and  the  in- 
stigation of  a  Western  war  governor,  who,  before  the 
war,  had  gained  many  a  friend  in  Southern  families  and 
could  not  forget  them  now.  Under  these  circumstances, 
possibly  unexplained  to  General  Joe  Wheeler,  it  was 
most  indelicate  on  his  part  to  intercept  that  particular 
train  when  finally  started  for  the  Ohio,  and  equally  un- 
feeling to  elude  all  attempts  of  the  Union  troopers  to 
intercept  him  and  his  precious  charges  on  his  intricate 
return.  In  his  report  of  the  successful  expedition,  a  copy 
of  which,  with  suspicious  ease,  was  captured  by  a  scout- 
ing-party  of  our  cavalry,  General  Wheeler  gave  much 
credit  to  his  volunteer  aide,  Mr.  John  Marshall  Barbour, 
of  Kentucky,  whose  knowledge  of  the  country  had  proved 
invaluable,  and  when  Ned  Freeman  was  shown  this  ex- 
tract all  the  fears  and  forebodings  of  the  winter  months 
became  intensified.  Not  one  word  or  line  had  reached 
him  from  Frances  Morgan  since  the  dismal  evening  of 
her  short  and  sudden  visit  to  the  hospital.  Not  one  mes- 
sage came,  even  when  Freeman  knew  that  letters  had 
been  received  from  the  older  Morgan  by  both  General 
Thomas  and  by  Colonel  Rolfe.  Fulmer,  on  his  return 
to  duty,  had  stopped  to  see  him  and  to  tell  him,  among 
other  things,  of  a  charming  call  he  had  paid  to  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Morgan,  who  were  visiting  friends  at  Nashville 
while  Don  was  there  detained.  "I  told  them  how  de- 
lightfully you  were  looked  after,"  said  Fulmer,  whereat 
Freeman  could  have  clouted  him. 

And  now,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Frances  Morgan  had 
once  said  to  him  she  hoped  she  might  never  see  Mr.  Jack 


248  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Barbbur  again,  here  was  Mr.  Jack  Barbour  prominent, 
if  not  preeminent,  in  the  resciie  of  her  beloved  brother 
from  a  prison-train,  a  thing  well  calculated  to  modify  the 
views  of  any  woman  whose  possibly  preferred  adorer  was 
being  restored  to  health  and  strength  through  the  as^s'i- 
duous  ministrations  of  a  dangerotlsly  attractive  rival: 
Was  ever  luck  like  this,  said  Freeman,  in  his  lottery  mo- 
ments and  his  secret  heart.  He  had  found  comfort  and 
solace  in  Kate  Claiborne's  presence,  and  when  she  held 
aloof  had  pursued  her,  and  now,  when  it  looked  as 
though  that  luxury  might  cost  him  another  far  more  de- 
sired, he  raged  at  fate,  or  luck,  or  whatever  he  called  it, 
instead  of  his  own  fatuity. 

And  what  made  matters  worse  was  the  fact  that  now 
the  Claibornes  stood  in  graver  need  of  his  help  and  sym- 
pathy than  ever  before,  or  than  ever  he  had  stood  In  heed 
of  theirs.  Night  and  day  armed  sentries  watched  at  the 
bedside  of  this  stricken  and  fast- failing  old  soldier;  and 
the  daughter  who  so  devotedly  loved  and  nursed  him 
could  never  see  him  a  moment  alone.  Grave  charges  had 
accumulated,  said  those  who  knew — charges  that  in- 
volved other  and  higher  names,  whispered  they  who  sus- 
pected. 

"That  old  rip,  Colonel  Pop  Eyes,  is  back  from  Wash- 
ington," said  Captain  Allis,  bursting  into  the  tent  whereih 
he  so  long  had  run  the  regimental  books.  "I  saw  him 
at  Old  Rosy's  this  morning.  Wonder  what  he'll  have  in 
pickle  for  you  this  time?" 

"What'd  he  have  last  time?"  demanded  Freeman. 

"Ruddy  blocked  it,  whatever  it  was,"  said  Allis.    "The 


The  Rock  of  Chickarriauga.  249 

paper  came  to  him,  and  he  never  even  let  me  see  it.  He 
took  it  Up  to  Thomas,  with  Palmer's  permission — Palmer 
told  me  so — and  Pop  and  Ruddy  both  went  to  Old  Rosy 
('Twas  thus  irreverently  we  spoke  of  our  elders  and  su- 
periors— we  who  loved  them  much),  and  said  thirigs.  I 
gather  from  Palmer  'twas  about  some  correspondence 
you  were  accused  of  aiding  arid  abetting  between  dis- 
loyal citizens  and  their  friends  in  the  rebel  lines.  You 
weren't  to  know  anything  about  it  until  your  recovery 
was  assured.  Who  the  devil  is  Cutler,  that  Rolfe  should 
so  seem  to  hate  him?  What's  he  got  against  Thomas? 
We  all  knew  what  he  got  from  you,  but  that  was  open 
and  aboveboard.  Cutler  strikes  me  as  being  some  kind 
of  a  sneak." 

Freeman  listened  in  deep  distress  of  mind.  It  was  as 
Claiborne  had  said,  then.  Those  luckless  letters  had  in- 
volved him,  and  his  name  had  suffered.  Both  in  love  and 
war  he  was  a  loser.  "Glad  you  don't  play  poker,  Free- 
man," Rawson  had  half-ruefully  said  to  him  one  day.  "If 
there's  any  truth  in  an  old  saying,  you'd  be  a  sure  win- 
ner," and  even  Rawson  did  not  begin  to  know  the  truth. 

It  was  Rawson,  indeed,  who  first  suspected  that  old 
Cutler  and  the  man  O'Reilly  had  rummaged  through  the 
pockets  of  that  water-logged  overcoat,  and  that  they 
knew  what  had  become  of  the  missing  letters.  It  was 
Rawsofi  who  came  perilously  near  suggesting  as  much 
to  Colonel  Rolfe  the  day  of  the  recovery  of  Freeman's 
property.  It  was  Rawson  who  first  hinted  it  to  Free- 
man, but,  imbued  with  the  West  Point  code  of  ethics, 
Freeman  could  not  accept  it  as  possible  in  a  West  Pointer, 


250  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

forgetting,  perhaps,  that  in  time  of  war  even  that  in- 
tangible and  unwritten  code  might  be  ignored.  Rawson 
had  a  level  head  on  his  young  shoulders.  He  mightily 
liked  his  former  fellow  subaltern  and  tentmate.  He,  like 
Allis,  had  grown  to  have  a  deep  respect  and  regard  for 
the  colonel,  and  both,  somehow,  had  become  imbued  with 
the  conviction  that  the  "Old  Man"  and  his  new  adju- 
tant both  had  enemies  at  home  among  the  advisers  of  the 
governor  of  Illinois,  enemies  at  headquarters  among  the 
advisers  of  General  Rosecrans,  and  that,  among  the  com- 
mon enemy  out  at  the  front  toward  Shelbyville,  there 
were  certain  individuals  inspired  with  personal  animosity 
toward  Freeman,  for  on  this  latter  count  something  very 
curious  had  just  come  to  light. 

Being  short  of  cavalry,  short  of  Spencer  carbines  for 
such  cavalry  as  he  had,  and  shorter  still  of  influence  as 
the  spring  wore  on,  General  Rosecrans  had  been  com- 
pelled of  late  to  call  on  the  infantry  for  much  patrol  and 
reconnaissance  duty  that  properly  belonged  to  their 
mounted  comrades.  One  April  morning  "The  Children 
of  Israel,"  some  nve  hundred  strong,  were  sent  squashing 
away  through  a  sea  of  mud,  with  orders  to  "feel"  a 
clump  of  woods  that  lay  a  mile  to  the  south  of  the  picket- 
line.  With  incredible  labor  some  light  guns,  that  proved 
in  such  a  wallow  of  mire  intolerably  heavy,  had  been 
hauled  to  the  front  and  placed  with  their  supporting  in- 
fantry where  they  could  be  of  use  in  case  that  suspicious 
grove  proved  a  veritable  hornets'  nest.  It  would  not 
do  to  let  the  Confederacy  build  a  little  fort  right  in  our 
front,  screened  ever  by  those  active,  gray-jacketed  riders 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  251 

of  theirs.  It  would  be  far  easier  to  brush  them  out  be- 
fore they  had  time  to  turn  the  timber  into  bristling  abattis 
and  log  revetments.  It  fell  to  Palmer's  lot  to  find  this 
promising  copse  in  his  immediate  front  when  the  division 
occupied  the  long,  low,  timbered  ridge  in  the  general  on- 
ward surge  of  the  center,  and  Palmer  wisely  hit  on  Rolfe 
as  the  man  to  lead,  and  "The  Children  of  Israel"  as  the 
men  to  explore  it.  For  three  nights  the  sentries  at  the 
extreme  front  had  seen  dancing  lights  about  the  grove, 
and  for  several  days  the  field-glasses  of  the  officers  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  somebody  had  been  at  work  and  that 
some  few  of  the  trees  were  already  coming  down.  The 
guns,  therefore,  had  been  lugged  to  the  front  late  the 
previous  evening.  Their  supports  lay  back  of  them  dur- 
ing the  breathless  night,  and  an  hour  before  dawn  the 
"Israelites,"  without  qualm  of  conscience,  had  swallowed 
their  pork,  bread,  and  coffee,  and  then,  falling  into  ranks, 
wended  their  muddy  way  in  misty,  ghostly  column  out 
through  the  grim  line  of  guns,  with  their  blanketed 
guardians  sprawled  about  them,  and  presently,  as  the 
westward  stars  and  the  eastern  heavens  began  to  pale, 
they  filed  to  their  right,  went  stumbling  along  what  had 
been  a  snake-fence,  along  the  border  of  a  plowed  field, 
until  clear  of  their  silent  and  watchful  comrades 
along  the  line,  and  here  they  successively  bumped  up 
against  the  four  ahead,  fronted  to  their  left,  and  crouched 
or  lay  down,  as  suited  their  sensibilities,  while  the  colonel 
and  his  adjutant  slipped  from  saddle,  the  other  field-offi- 
cers followed  suit,  and  the  animals  were  led  well  to  the 
rear,  while  jn  the  dull  gray  gloom  of  the.  earliest  dawn, 


252  The  Rock  of  Chickamaiiga. 

Ruddy  arid  Freeman  went  crouchitig  forward,  only  two 
soldiers  in  atteridance.  Another  minute,  and  they  were 
out  of  sight. 

Ten,  fifteen  minutes  the  five  hundred  waited  arid 
listened,  the  darkness  slowly  giving  way  to  fairit,  pallid 
light,  with  something  almost  like  a  feeble  blush  stealing 
upward  from  the  far  horizon.  Little  by  little  the  dim 
upheaval  of  the  distant  Cumberlands  loomed  black 
against  the  dawn,  and  across  the  shadowy  hollow  to  their 
front  the  straining  eyes  of  the  "Sheenies"  could  jtist  dis- 
tinguish the  outlines  of  the  grove,  when  Freerrikn  cariie 
springily  back.  Bellows,  their  major,  ttiet  and  gruffly 
hailed  him,  and  the  line  listened,  breathless. 

"It's  all  right,"  those  nearest  could  hear  his  ju'bilafit 
announcement,  "Their  lights  are  screened  from  the 
front,  but  we  crept  round  till  we  could  see  them  from  the 
west.  There's  a  big  gang  working  iri  there,  arid  the 
vedettes  haven't  seen  or  heard  us.  The  colonel  says  to 
move  to  the  right  two  hundred  paces,  then  front  and  for- 
ward, and  not  to  make  a  sound." 

Swiftly  the  word  was  muttered  from  the  center  to  the 
wings — "Face  to  the  right.  Trail  arms.  Silence  and 
forward,"  and,  like  so  many  ghosts,  the  eight  companies 
went  groping  away  to  the  west,  sturriblirig  occasionally, 
but  in  dead  silence,  as  a  rule,  for  not  even  a  canteen  was 
carried.  When  the  required  distance  had  been  gained  td 
the  right  the  guides  halted  at  the  whispered  word,  arid 
Freeman  came  swiftly  back,  seeing  to  it  that  the  files 
closed  up  on  the  head  of  the  column  before  again  the 
regiment  faced  to  its  left.  Then,  with  the  ground  ahead 


The  Rpck  of  Chickamauga.  253 

dimjy  visible  now,  and  the  eastward  sky  shading  from 
rose-pink  to  mauve,  "Forward,  guide  center,"  followed, 
a.nd,  with  Freeman  put  in  the  lead,  and  the  senior  color- 
sergeant  in  his  tracks,  breaking  step  to  deaden  the  sound, 
on  they  went  again — on,  until  three  hundred  paces  were 
gained,  and  then  the  dark  outlines  of  the  grove  loomed  to 
the  left  front,  and  a  little  group  square  in  front  of  the 
center,  and  then,  with  the  captains  on  the  line  of  the  front 
rank,  once  again  the  murmurous  "halt"  was  passed,  and 
still  not  a  challenge  had  been  heard.  Off  to  their  left 
now,  between  them  and  the  rose  of  the  dawn,  two  or 
three  horsemen  could  be  plainly  seen,  wearily,  patiently 
watching  the  northward  approaches.  Others,  probably, 
should  be  somewhere  thereabout,  between  them  and  th,e 
grove,  or  the  low  line  of  heights  toward  the  distant  camp- 
fires  of  Bragg ;  but  still  not  a  challenge.  And  now  Rolfe 
himself  drew  sword,  pivoted  his  left  company  on  its  left 
guide  until  its  line  squarely  faced  southeastward,  with 
the  grove  in  front  full  a  third  of  a  mile  away.  Then 
the  well-drilled  battalion,  without  word  of  command  audi- 
ble beyond  a  company  front,  "changed  front  forward  to 
the  left."  Swiftly  the  captains  rectified  the  alignment; 
again  "The  Children  of  Israel"  knelt  with  beating  hearts, 
for  now  the  bleary  lights  could  plainly  be  seen;  the  dull 
blows  of  the  axmen  be  plainly  heard;  the  grove  itself 
stood  almost  clearly  defined  in  the  dim  morning  light. 
The  captains  gathered  in  silence  about  the  colonel  one 
moment:  "Remember,  now,  not  a  sound,  not  a  shot. 
Silence  until  I  give  the  order,  charge,  then  hurrah  for 
all  you're  worth  and  rush  in."  On  the  run,  the  captains 


2  $4  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

returned  to  their  places.  "Now,  color-bearer,  head  for 
that  tallest  tree  in  the  center,"  were  Rolfe's  words,  cool 
and  confident.  Then:  "Rise.  Forward,  guide  center. 
March !"  And  with  arms  at  the  trail,  where  nervous  rin- 
gers might  not  too  readily  reach  the  triggers,  away  went 
"The  Children  of  Israel,"  with  their  ruddy-haired,  mar- 
tial Moses  striding  in  the  lead,  Ned  Freeman  at  his  back. 
Not  forty  paces  had  they  gone,  the  lines  of  blue-gray 
overcoats  almost  blending  with  the  mists  of  the  morning, 
when  up  from  a  little  hollow  popped  the  head  and  shoul- 
ders of  a  man,  behind  the  head  of  a  startled  horse.  "Halt- 
whogoesthere !"  came  the  long-expected,  short-spoken 
challenge.  "Go  to  hell!"  was  the  answer.  "Double- 
quick  !"  rang  the  order,  and  in  almost  intolerable  eager- 
ness and  joy  the  line  burst  into  a  triple-quick.  "Bang!" 
went  a  carbine.  Away  tore  a  maddened  horse  toward  the 
grove.  "Turn  out  thah!"  yelled  the  rider.  "Bang! 
Bang!"  went  other  shots,  right  and  left,  and  away  went 
more  horses  and  horsemen,  thundering  for  the  grove,  and 
still  Ruddy  danced  joyously  on  in  front  of  the  center, 
never  quickening  the  pace;  they  would  need  all  their 
breath  when  they  got  there.  Still  sword-arm  and  left 
arm  waved  "Steady,  steady,"  to  his  impatient  followers. 
Men's  hearts  were  bursting  with  mad  eagerness.  Men's 
voices  were  pent  up  in  the  swelling  throats.  Men's  eyes 
were  glaring  on  the  signs  of  scurry,  confusion,  dismay 
among  those  smoke-wreathed  cedars,  for  now  half-blinded 
sentries,  half-wakened  guardians  were  wildly  pulling 
trigger  at  the  dim  blue  lines,  with  that  unmistakable  ban- 
ner dancing  well  out  in  front;  and  then,  at  last,  over  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamaiiga.  15$ 

rattle  and  sputter  of  small  arms  and  the  scurry  of  hoofs, 
clear  and  exultant,  rang  the  order,  "Charge !"  and  at  the 
word  a  roar  of  cheers  went  skyward,  and  in  mad  race  for 
the  timber  the  "Sheenies"  came  bounding  on.  Away 
back  of  the  northward  ridge  the  half  of  Palmer's  divis- 
ion had  crept  to  the  guns,  and  an  echoing  shout  went 
thrilling  across  the  sodden  fields,  and  then  with  rush  and 
scurry  and  fierce  yelling  and  a  startling  clamor  of  mus- 
ketry the  blue  lines  were  swallowed  up  in  the  trees.  A 
few  horsemen  could  be  seen  tearing  away  toward  the 
south ;  eastward  and  westward  along  the  front,  singly  and 
in  pairs,  gray- jacketed  vedettes  were  circling  madly  about, 
signaling  something  amiss  to  the  comrades  far  to  the 
rear;  and  then,  issuing  from  the  northward  edge  of  the 
grove,  as  the  sputter  of  small  arms  died  away,  there 
came  a  motley  array  of  dejected  mortals,  some  still  half- 
shrouded  in  blankets,  some  bareheaded,  all  disarmed  and 
helpless — a  throng  of  three  hundred  prisoners  of  war, 
workmen  and  guards  of  the  little  redoubt,  and  behind 
them,  driving  steadily  on,  came  Manning  and  Allis,  with 
their  companies,  while,  still  farther  away,  faced  to  the 
still  more  distant  foe,  "The  Children  of  Israel,"  in  line 
of  battle,  their  colors  tipped  by  the  first  rays  of  the  peep- 
ing sun,  halted  a  while  beyond  the  captured  works  as  if  to 
inquire  if  any  one  yonder  had  anything  to  say  on  the 
subject,  and  then,  with  still  other  groups  in  gray,  guarded 
by  assiduous  attendants  in  blue,  drifting  in  ahead  of 
them,  and  a  thousand  or  more  of  envious  comrades  ap- 
plauding their  exploit,  the  "Sheenies"  marched  home- 


256  The  Hock  of  Chickamauga. 

ward,  "faced  by  the  rear  ra,nk";  halted  and  fronted  at 
the  crest;  dressed  ranks  deliberately;  then  stood  at  "in 
place,  rest,"  and  £ried  \o  loo}<  as  though  this  sort  of 
thing  were  an  eyery-da,y  occurrence,  yet  tnadly  longing 
to  cheer  Colonel  Ru4dy  as  he  sheathed  )iis  s>vord  and 
went  over  to  greet  Qeneraj  Palmer. 

Then  other  details  pame  slpwly  in,  with  surgeons,  and 
stretcher-men,  and  afar  pff  the  Southern  Horse  could 
be  seen  gathering  and  galloping  b^ck  to  count  their 
losses,  and  then  there  came  quick  word  of  command  at 
the  battery  and  a  thud  of  ra.  turners,  and  a  breaking  away 
from  the  front  of  the  black  rrjuzzles ;  and  then,  flash,  roar, 
and  spream,  as  round  after  round  of  $hraPnel  wa.s  sent 
bursting  over  the  smoking  timber,  whereat  gauntleted 
fists  were  shaken,  and  there  was  more  scattering  of  horses 
an,d  hprsemen.  An4  then,  as  "cease  firing"  sounded  and 
the  brigade  staff  went  on  taking  stock  pf  casualties^  a  man 
in  blue  stood,  note-booji  in  hand,  Iqpking  cqnQusly  dpwn 
at  a  scpwling,  hlack-eye^l,  blacjc-hairefil  youth  in  gold-lace4 
gray — a  cjaqdy  officer,  one  could  see  at  ^  glance. 

A  languid  yawn,  a  shrug  of  the  ladylike  shoulders,  a 
supercilious  uplifting  of  the  eyebro\ys,  then  in  Freqph, 
"Anatole,  see  what  is  wanted,"  whereat  another  dapper 
little  Gaul,  in  odd  combination  of  Confederate  jacket  and 
Zouave  balloons,  responded  : 

"It  is  the  Captain  Millaudorj,  aide-de-camp,  an4  I  a,m 
Zouave  Mercier,  orderly." 

"Let  him  answer  for  himself,"  was  \he  sharp  rehufce 
of  the  staff-officer,  indignant  at  such  cavaljer  airs.  "He 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  257 

isn't  such  a  damned  fool  that  he  doesn't  know  his  own 
name." 

"He's  worse  than  a  damned  fool,"  burst  in  the  major, 
black-browed  and  raging.  "He's  a  damned  scoundrel. 
He  shot  Ned  Freeman  after  surrendering  his  sword  J" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"That  man  can  no  more  get  an  order  to  the  front  with- 
out getting  sick  than  Freeman  can  get  into  a  fight  with- 
out getting  hit."  The  man  of  whom  the  major  of  the 

th  Illinois  thus  getfully  spoke  was  Bostwick,  of  the 

next  brigade,  who  sought  the  hospital  with  some  mys- 
terious ailment  when  the  division  marched  for  Bradyville, 
leaving  its  wounded  once  more  in  Murfreesboro,  Ned 
Freeman  with  them,  and  Freeman  was  a  much  disgusted 
adjutant.  Honorable  as  wounds  may  be,  there  are  times 
when  they  are  as  unwelcome  as  painful,  and  this  time 
Freeman's  wound  was  both.  It  was  as  the  burly  major 
had  bluntly  put  it.  The  young  Creole,  whether  by  ac- 
cident, design,  or  mere  nervousness,  had  actually  shot 

the  adjutant  of  the th  Illinois  after  formally,  in  token 

of  surrender,  tendering  his  sword. 

Bounding  in  among  the  very  foremost,  sword  in  one 
hand,  revolver  in  the  other,  Freeman  had  felled  one  half- 
roused  antagonist  with  a  whack  of  the  blade,  and  pulled 
up  suddenly  at  sight  of  another,  a  slender  youth,  who, 
vociferating  shrill  commands  to  the  fugitives  in  a  curious 
mixture  of  Grenoble  French  and  gulf-coast  American, 
was  vainly  striving  to  hold  the  startled,  stampeded  guard 
to  a  stand-up  fight.  Cursing  them  volubly  for  cowardice, 
he  turned  to  do  his  own  part  like  a  little  man,  and  found 
himself  looking  into  the  muzzles  of  three  or  four  Spring- 
fields,  with  a  panting,  grinning  son  of  Illinois  at  the  butt 


The  bullet  tore  its  way  up  Freeman's  extended  arm. 


Page  259 


The    Rock  of  Chickamauga.  159 

of  each,  and  a  tall  young  officer  in  their  midst.  Little 
game-cock  that  he  was,  he  couldn't  whip  six  times  his 
weight  in  shanghais,  and  in  the  dim,  uncertain  light  low- 
ered his  blade  in  the  graceful  salute  of  the  old  salle 
d'armes,  then  extended  its  hilt  foremost.  Returning  his 
pistol  to  receive  it,  Freeman  advanced  a  step.  Instantly 
the  little  Creole  recoiled,  with  something  like  a  cattish 
scream  of  rage,  and  as  his  revolver  leaped  from  the 
holster  it  flashed,  and  the  bullet  tore  its  way  up  Free- 
man's extended  arm.  For  a  moment  the  wounded  officer 
could  hardly  restrain  his  men.  Then,  when  his  stern 
order  to  do  their  prisoner  no  harm  was  fully  understood, 
contemptuously  turned  his  back  and  sought  the  surgeon. 
An  artery  was  grazed,  the  bone  was  nipped,  and  he  was 
out  of  the  fight. 

Yes,  and  for  many  a  day.  Out  of  the  fight  and  into  his 
old  familiar  room  in  Wharton's  "Hotel,"  with  the  blue- 
coated  guards  on  the  galleries  and  the  garden  walk, 
where  now  the  buds  were  gone  and  the  blossoms  were 
opening,  sweet  and  fragrant,  in  the  almost  summer  sun- 
shine, and  when  he  asked  for  the  Claibornes  Wharton 
sadly  shook  his  head.  "It  is.  a  question  of  only  a  few 
weeks  or  days,"  he  said,  "and  I  lie  to  that  poor  girl  every 
time  I  see  her." 

It  was  a  week  before  Freeman  saw  her.  His  arm  had 
been  saved.  Despite  old  Riggs's  dictum  that  the  chain- 
saw  was  all  that  could  save  him,  Wharton  had  saner 
views,  and  prevailed;  but  it  proved  a  cruel,  tormenting 
wound ;  kept  him  in  pain  and  bed  well-nigh  a  month ;  and 


260  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

when  at  last  he  rode  forward  to  rejoin,  it  was  with  an 
elbow  probably  stiffened  for  life. 

But  meantime  other  things  were  happening  at  or  near 
the  "Hotel  Wharton,"  wherein  our  impatient  hero  was 
deeply  concerned.  Other  things,  graver  and  most  mo- 
mentous matters,  were  happening  in  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland.  Let  us  speak  first  of  these,  for  they  were 
of  solemn  import.  Far  in  the  East,  along  the  Rappahan- 
nock,  Lee  had  shaken  loose  from  Hooker's  fangs  and 
was  striding  for  the  fords  of  the  Potomac.  Far  to  the 
West,  Grant  had  a  death-grip  on  Pemberton  at  Vicks- 
burg,  and  while  the  armies  of  the  Potomac  and  Tennessee 
were  thus  facing  tremendous  things,  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland,  said  its  detractors  both  in  and  out  of  the 
war  office,  was  doing  nothing.  The  word  had  gone  forth 
that  no  matter  what  the  lack  of  cavalry  or  carbines ;  no 
matter  what  the  roads,  rivers,  obstacles,  or  armies,  Rose- 
crans  must  shove  ahead  and  keep  Bragg  busy.  That  he 
was  keeping  him  abundantly  busy  without  shoving  ahead 
seemed  patent  to  no  one.  Corps  and  division  commanders 
united  with  Rosecrans  in  the  opinion  that  until  the  roads 
dried  and  the  mountain  rains  ceased,  advance  was  im- 
possible, and  it  was  still  raining  in  torrents  along  in 
June.  But  the  fiat  went  forth,  and  so  did  the  army,  bat- 
tling like  fury  at  Liberty  Gap,  grabbing  all  Joe  Wheeler's 
guns  and  most  of  his  men  at  Duck  River,  and  gradually 
driving  Bragg  into  his  works  at  Tullahoma,  which  on  the 
ist  of  July  that  astute  leader  abandoned  without  a  fight, 
and  lured  his  opponents  on  to  Chattanooga  and  the  per- 
ilous beyond. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  261 

And  then,  while  at  last  the  friends  of  the  Union  had 
found  cause  for  hope  and  rejoicing,  and  all  over  the 
North  the  guns  were  booming,  flags  were  flying,  and  men 
and  women  were  thanking  God  for  the  news  from  Get- 
tysburg and  Vicksburg;  while  the  armies  of  Meade  and 
Grant,  the  Potomac  and  the  Tennessee,  were  lauded  to 
the  skies  (and  deserved  every  cheer  they  got,  for  they 
had  had,  God  knows,  hard  knocks  in  plenty),  people  at 
large  could  not  much  be  blamed  for  forgetting — perhaps 
people  in  the  war  department  might  be  excused  for 
prodding — the  general  then  commanding  in  the  Middle 
West,  and  his  valiant  if  often  storm-swept,  storm-bound 
army.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  North  had  hardly  tired  of 
shouting  for  Grant  and  Meade  when  Union  pulses  leaped 
again  at  the  tidings  that  Bragg  had  loosened  his  hold  on 
the  mountain  passes;  that  "Old  Rosy,"  sharp  at  his 
heels,  had  scaled  the  Cumberlands  and  pitched  his  camps 
along  the  Tennessee. 

Then,  while  all  was  again  "quiet  along  the  Potomac," 
and  while  the  Mississippi  for  the  first  time  "flowed  un- 
vexed  to  the  sea,"  and  the  armies  East  and  West  took 
a  rest  for  the  time  being  and  seemed  to  say,  "Your  turn 
now,"  to  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland;  then,  com- 
plaisantly,  perhaps,  our  vigilant  general-in-chief  at  the 
war  department  relaxed  his  watchfulness  over  the  suc- 
cessful forces,  and  when  Rosecrans  sent  his  columns 
across  the  beautiful,  winding,  mountain  river,  and  at  last 
the  stars  and  stripes  waved  from  one  grand  ridge  to 
another  in  northern  Georgia ;  and  Bragg,  maneuvered  out 
of  Chattanooga,  fell  away  into  the  Chickamauga  Valley 


262  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

to  the  east,  somebody  went  to  sleep  in  front  of  Washing- 
ton; but  it  wasn't  Lee  or  Longstreet.  For,  while  "Old 
Rosy"  was  concentrating  his  scattered  columns  on  what 
had  been  Bragg's  forty-five  thousand,  intending  to  smash 
him  then  and  there,  the  supposedly  defeated  and  dispir- 
ited Army  of  Northern  Virginia  detached  an  entire  wing  ; 
sent  Longstreet,  with  his  trained  war-dogs,  speeding  hot- 
foot to  the  far  southwest;  while  at  the  same  time  John- 
ston, with  some  fifteen  thousand  men  from  over  in  Mis- 
sissippi, had  crept  round  from  the  south,  all  to  the  end 
that  "Rosy's"  sixty  thousand  encircling  warriors  found 
encircling  no  longer  a  possibility.  Our  old  friends  of 
Palmer's  division,  now  of  Crittenden's  fated  corps,  had 
little  idea,  as  they  camped  at  Rossville,  at  that  soon-to-be- 
famous  dip  in  Mission  Ridge,  that,  so  far  from  trying 
to  sidle  off  to  Atlanta,  Bragg's  reenforced  army  was 
placidly  reposing  in  the  eastward  valley,  across  that  twist- 
ing, tortuous  stream,  the  Chickamauga,  waiting  to  "give 
the  hand,"  as  say  the  French,  "the  glad  hand,"  as  say  our 
college-bred,  to  Longstreet  when  he  should  come,  and 
battle  to  "Old  Rosy."  A  splendid  chance  had  been  af- 
forded Bragg  of  smashing  our  widely  dispersed  divisions 
in  detail,  but  for  once  the  Southern  combinations,  gen- 
erally so  effective,  would  not  work.  Perhaps  the  god  of 
battles  meant  that  nothing  should  mar  the  stunning  force 
of  the  blow  en  masse  when  finally  it  fell. 

It  was  mid-September,  hot,  dry,  and  dusty,  as  the 
spring  had  been  wet  and  dismal,  when  Ned  Freeman  re- 
appeared at  the  camp  of  "The  Children  of  Israel,"  and 
Colonel  Ruddy,  now  not  only  topped  but  bearded  in 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  263 

auburn,  gave  him  joyous  welcome,  while  Rawson,  long 
weeks  acting-adjutant,  prepared  to  turn  over  his  desk  and 
saddle  to  the  adjutant  in  esse,  but  that  change  was  not 
to  be.  Momentous  matters  had  been  chronicled  in  the 
record  of  events  on  the  regimental  muster-roll  since  the 
June  morning  the  "Sheenies"  jumped  that  little  hornets' 
nest  in  front  of  Palmer's  line,  capturing  two  guns  (old 
bronze  six-pounders,  badly  balloted,  but  sounding  well 
when  saluting,  or  mentioned  in  the  reports),  twenty- 
seven  staff  and  regimental  officers,  and  over  three  hun- 
dred men,  together  with  a  vehement  little  Gallic  aide-de- 
camp, who,  it  was  learned,  had  been  spending  two  or 
three  days  sketching  the  positions  and  mapping  the  line. 
Momentous  matters  had  come  to  pass  in  the  cases  of  even 
so  inconspicuous  a  person  as  a  lieutenant  of  volunteers 
of  the  armies  of  the  Union. 

It  seems  that  tentative  had  come  from  General  Bragg — 
proposals  for  exchange  of  prisoners.  It  seems  that  friends 
of  the  little  lieutenant  of  the  Crescent  Zouaves,  A.  D.  C, 
and  acting-engineer  officer,  were  very  desirous  of  tender- 
ing a  strapping  Hoosier  as  Roland  for  their  Oliver,  the 
idea  of  a  Millaudon,  of  Louisiana,  shivering  in  a  Chicago 
stockade  being  especially  repulsive.  Brave  as  is  the  Gal- 
lic bantam,  he  is  not  robust,  and  so  it  was  with  "P'tit 
Pierre";  but  Northern  sensibilities  proved  adamant.  So 
far  from  permitting  the  exchange  of  Lieutenant  Millau- 
don, there  was  likelihood,  said  the  commissioner,  of  his 
being  brought  to  trial  for  an  attack  of  despicable  treach- 
ery— shooting  his  captor  after  having,  in  token  of  sub- 
mission, tendered  his  sword,  and  there  was  consternation 


264  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

in  the  Louisiana  brigade,  and  in  all  black-eyed  Breckin- 
ridge's  division,  where  the  snappy  little  swordsman  had 
many  a  friend. 

There  was  gossip  about  Murfreesboro,  where,  pending 
decision  of  the  matter,  the  young  Creole  was  kept  under 
constant  guard,  to  the  effect  that,  with  a  dying  father  to 
nurse  and  cheer,  a  certain  daughter  of  the  South  was 
frequently  an  applicant  for  permission  to  see  this  particu- 
lar captive.  The  post  commander's  explanation,  that  the 
two  were  first  cousins,  that  the  girl's  mother  was  a  Mil- 
laudon,  was  not  at  first  made  known,  except  to  his  su- 
periors. When  later  put  in  circulation  it  bore  an  odd 
addendum,  for  which  "Doc"  Wharton  must  bear  a  cer- 
tain onus  of  responsibility.  He  let  it  out,  and  there  was 
much  to  warrant  the  belief,  that  she  and  Ned  Freeman, 
enemies-at-law,  were  lovers-in-fact,  although  something 
had  occurred  to  estrange  them. 

Kate  Claiborne  came  not  once  to  Freeman's  bedside 
during  his  first  three  weeks  of  fevered  suffering.  She 
came  not,  in  fact,  until  Wharton  went  and  begged  it  of 
her,  and  at  sight  of  the  patient,  white,  pinched,  and  hol- 
low face,  the  misery  in  her  eyes  was  pathetic. 

By  this  time  Miss  Claiborne  must  have  realized  there 
was  no  vestige  of  hope  for  her  father's  recovery.  The 
knowledge  of  his  condition  was  all  that  stood  between 
him  and  the  wrath  of  the  Union  government.  It  was 
this  consciousness,  coupled  with  her  anxiety  on  behalf  of 
her  young  kinsman,  let  us  reason,  that  caused  her  excess 
of  woe,  yet  who  could  have  seen  her  face,  when  timidly 
she  looked  on  Freeman,  and  not  read  still  further  reason ! 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  265 

The  ice  once  broken,  her  resolution — or  his  prohibition, 
or  whatever  it  was  that  estranged  them — once  set  at 
naught,  she  had  come  again,  twice,  at  Freeman's  earnest 
plea,  and  finally  there  came  a  day  after  he  had  been  sit- 
ting up  a  week  or  so,  and  could  once  more  wear  a  uni- 
form, when  the  attendants  helped  him  to  a  waiting  ambu- 
lance, and,  with  the  surgeons  close  at  hand,  he  was  driven 
to  the  office  of  the  prison. 

A  solemn  little  gathering  was  this  that  met  his  eyes. 
At  the  official  table  sat  the  general  commanding  the  sub- 
district,  with  two  of  his  staff.  The  commander  of  the 
prison-guard,  a  major  of  infantry,  stood  a  little  to  his 
left,  his  adjutant  by  his  side.  A  sergeant,  with  a  brace 
of  sentries,  leaned  on  their  rifles  at  the  doorway,  while 
half  across  the  little  room,  very  pale  and  looking  very 
young  and  motherless,  was  seated  a  youth  in  Confederate 
uniform,  neat  and  natty  in  spite  of  the  month  of  incar- 
ceration. On  his  right,  almost  in  loco  parentis,  sat  Aunt 
Marie.  On  his  left,  pallid,  wistful,  appealing,  sat  Cousin 
Kate. 

And  into  this  presence  was  Freeman  ushered,  escorted 
to  a  seat,  and  him  the  general  most  courteously  ad- 
dressed. To  men  as  often  hit  as  Freeman  other  men  ac- 
corded the  repute  of  much  fighting,  and  the  respect  thus 
due. 

"I  shall  detain  you  as  short  a  while  as  possible,  Mr. 
Freeman,"  said  the  senior  present.  "The  reports  of 
Colonel  Rolfe  and  Major  Bellows,  and,  it  was  said,  your 
own  words,  accused  this  prisoner  of  war  of  having 
treacherously  shot  you  as  you  advanced  to  receive  his 


266  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

tendered  sword.  You  recall  the  circumstances,  do  you 
not?" 

"Distinctly,  sir." 

"The  officer  had  extended  his  sword,  hilt  foremost; 
you  took  it  to  be  in  token  of  surrender?" 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"And  then  what  happened  ?" 

"The  officer  suddenly  sprang  a  step  backward,  whipped 
his  pistol  from  the  holster;  it  was  discharged,  and  I  was 
wounded." 

"You  say  it  was  discharged.  The  report  would  indi- 
cate, and  your  own  words  and  conduct  at  the  time  suggest 
the  claim,  that  he  took  quick,  but  deliberate,  aim,  and 
fired.  That  it  was,  in  fact,  deliberate  treachery." 

"It  did  look  that  way  at  the  time,  sir." 

"It  is  stated  that  you  had  had  previous  acquaintance, 
and  a  serious  quarrel,  with  the  prisoner,  and  that  he  had 
made  effort  to  renew  it.  Is  that  true  ?" 

There  was  painful  silence  for  a  moment  in  the  little 
room.  Kate  Claiborne  had  turned  suddenly  pale,  and 
now  sat  gazing  at  Freeman,  with  distress  in  her  eyes. 
Freeman  himself  changed  color,  though  there  was  but 
little  to  change.  Who  could  have  known  and  told  of 
this? 

At  last  the  witness  spoke : 

"True,  yes,  sir;  but,  in  spite  of  that,  I  have  changed 
my  views  entirely.  On  my  honor,  sir,  I  believe  this  was 
an  accident." 

That  proved  the  sensation  of  the  impromptu  little  trial. 
The  general  looked  at  first  astonished,  then  a  bit  relieved ; 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  267 

then,  with  a  light  of  comprehension  dawning  in  his  eyes, 
glanced  from  Miss  Claiborne's  bowed  and  beautiful  head 
to  the  now  faintly  flushing  face  of  the  tall,  young  soldier, 
whose  left  arm  was  still  in  its  sling. 

"No  one  certainly  is  more  intimately  concerned — no 
one  had  better  opportunity  at  the  time  of  judging,  and 
at  the  time  you  seemed  to  have  had  no  doubt.  Pardon 
my  saying,  sir,  that  you  must  have  had  grave  reasons  for 
so  radical  a  change  of  front." 

"Grave,  possibly,  general,"  said  Freeman,  his  lips 
twitching  a  bit,  but  his  blue  eyes  steady ;  "but  good  and 
sufficient." 

"Good  I  should  have  said  myself,"  answered  the  gen- 
eral, a  smile  playing  about  his  lips,  "and  sufficient  to  re- 
lieve this  young  gentleman  of  a  most  serious  imputation, 
and  I  shall  so  report.  The  guard  may  withdraw  with  the 
prisoner." 

But  the  prisoner  had  risen.  His  sallow  face  had  turned 
red,  then  yellow-white ;  his  kindling  black  eyes,  in  some- 
thing like  astonishment,  sought  the  face  of  the  officer  who 
had  so  suffered  at  his  hands,  but  a  gesture  had  called  that 
officer  to  the  general's  side,  and  there  was  no  return 
glance.  One  moment  "P'tit  Pierre"  stood  trembling  and 
irresolute,  then,  recollecting  himself,  saluted  hurriedly 
and,  with  Aunt  Marie's  arm  about  him,  turned  and 
marched  unsteadily  from  the  room. 

But  Kate  Claiborne,  her  eyes  welling  with  tears,  turned 
at  the  threshold  and  looked  long  at  the  tall  and  soldierly 
form  in  blue,  standing  there  in  respectful  silence,  listen- 
ing to  the  general's  low-spoken  words. 


268  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

"Simply  another  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence  against 
him,"  said  the  veteran  staff-officer,  to  whom  the  provost 
marshal-general  at  Chattanooga  a  fortnight  later  was  re- 
lating this  dramatic  incident.  "There's  a  coterie  of 
Thomas's  kith  and  kin  to  whom  the  rules  and  articles  of 
war  cannot  be  made  to  apply  for  lack  of  proof  that 
Thomas's  immediate  followers  refuse  to  furnish.  Wait, 
now,  and  see  what  we'll  hear  from  Washington." 

But  matters  of  greater  import  were  vexing  both  head- 
quarters at  Washington  and  headquarters  here  in  the 
field.  Moreover,  it  had  been  found  worse  than  useless  to 
approach  "Old  Rosy"  with  a  story  of  any  kind  reflecting 
on  his  lion-hearted  second  in  command.  Whether  in  vic- 
tory or  defeat,  whether  in  success  or  in  dismay,  the  com- 
mander of  that  sore-tried  army,  Buell  or  Rosecrans,  had 
learned  one  thing  there  was  no  shaking — the  absolute 
fidelity  and  integrity  of  George  H.  Thomas. 

There  was  another  scene  enacted  at  or  about  the 
"Hotel  Wharton"  old  Cutler  was  not  slow  to  hear  of 
and  heed,  for  it  came  through  the  same  unimpeachable 
channel,  and  interested  him  quite  as  keenly  as  the  news 
that  Bragg  was  over  toward  Lafayette,  and  being  reen- 
forced  by  rail  from  the  South. 

There  had  come  a  day  when  Wharton  could  no  longer 
say  "hope"  to  Katherine  Claiborne,  for  the  father  was 
sinking  fast.  There  had  come  a  day  when  the  tender- 
hearted surgeon  led  her  forth  into  the  garden  and  bade 
her  sit  and  rest  and  take  the  air,  while  her  father  fitfully 
slept.  Respectfully,  in  soldier  sympathy,  the  guard  had 
made  way  for  her,  and  one  of  the  men  had  run  over 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  269 

and  fetched  an  easy  chair  from  the  porch  at  Freeman's 
open  door.  The  mail  had  just  come,  and  the  lieutenant 
was  deep  in  his  letters  at  the  table  within.  Barely  had 
they  seated  her,  and  Wharton  was  intently  studying  her 
sweet,  but  mournful,  face,  when  he  was  startled  by  a 
shout  of  his  name.  Freeman,  in  much  excitement,  came 
bursting  from  his  doorway,  waving  a  letter  over  his  head. 

"Doctor,  listen !"  he  cried.  "Now,  you've  got  to  let  me 
go !  I'm  aide-de-camp  to  Thomas  himself,  and  he  wants 
me  there  instanter !" 

But  Wharton  turned  his  back  on  the  swift-coming 
soldier.  His  hands,  his  services  were  needed  here.  Miss 
Claiborne  at  the  sound  had  simply  swooned  away. 

That  night  late  she  was  led  a  second  time,  and  for  the 
last,  from  her  father's  bedside,  sobbing  her  heart  out,  yet 
sustained.  The  spirit  of  the  veteran  soldier  had  loosed 
its  earthly  trammel.  The  fond  old  father  was  lost  to  her 
for  all,  but  a  strong,  young  arm  encircled  the  slender 
waist ;  a  thin,  white  hand  clung  firmly  to  her  own,  and  the 
bonny  head  of  the  sorrowing  girl  was  bowed  on  a  shoul- 
der in  the  Union  blue. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"Every  time  Freeman  gets  back  he  is  glummer  than 
the  last,"  said  the  major.  And  indeed  the  new  aide-de- 
camp's  looks  gave  warrant  to  the  major's  words.  He 
had  dismounted  for  a  short  visit  to  his  former  comrades, 
when  returning  to  his  chief,  after  a  long  day  in  saddle. 
He  was  not  yet  restored  to  his  wonted  strength,  and  he 
had  mental  ills  of  which  he  could  not  speak,  and  that 
told  more  than  did  the  wounds  upon  his  physical  condi- 
tion. He  had  been  urgently  recommended  to  the  gov- 
ernor by  Colonel  Rolfe  for  promotion  to  captaincy,  vice 
a  company  commander  whose  resignation  had  been  ac- 
cepted "for  the  good  of  the  service,"  and,  though  General 
Palmer  himself  had  warmly  indorsed  the  letter,  and  Gen- 
eral Thomas  had  concurred,  the  promotion  went  to  Lieu- 
tenant Wells,  whose  name  had  not  been  mentioned.  Then 
Captain  Manning  accepted  the  lieutenant-colonelcy  of  a 
new  regiment  being  raised  at  home,  and  Rolfe  was  sure 
that  now  there  could  be  no  denying  Freeman's  rights. 
Yet  there  came  a  vague,  ambiguous  letter  from  his  ex- 
cellency's private  secretary  to  the  effect  that  in  view  of 
opposition  on  the  part  of  the  company,  and  other  mat- 
ters brought  to  his  attention,  his  excellency  could  not  see 
his  way  to  obliging  Colonel  Rolfe  as  suggested. 

And  this  was  mid-September,  and  here  was  Bragg  with 
a  big  army  right  in  their  front  at  Lafayette,  a  battle  im- 
minent, and  no  telling  when  it  would  be  possible  to  get 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  271 

at  the  "matters"  referred  to.  As  for  opposition  of  the 
company,  Rolfe  swore  stoutly  that  there  was  nothing  of 
the  kind.  Non-commissioned  officers  and  privates,  they 
would  welcome  Freeman  to  the  captaincy.  What  they 
feared  was  that  he  would  prefer  to  remain  with  General 
Thomas  on  the  duties  to  which  he  had  just  been  assigned. 

So  much  for  his  professional  vexings.  The  personal 
worries  were  worse.  Not  for  months,  even  after  her 
brother's  rescue  by  Wheeler's  troopers  from  captivity, 
had  Freeman  heard  from  Frances  Morgan.  True,  they 
had  parted  in  anger;  they  had  met  again,  if  only  for  a 
moment,  under  circumstances  that  pointed  to  tender  rela- 
tions with  Katherine  Claiborne,  and  then  Fulmer  had 
seen  Miss  Morgan  during  his  blissful  ten  days'  leave,  and 
doubtless  had  given  her  glowing  accounts  of  Freeman's 
convalescence,  with  especial  reference  to  the  fair  young 
nurse. 

And  while  nothing  had  come  to  Freeman  from  Miss 
Morgan,  not  a  little  had  he  heard  about  her.  Louisville 
was  very  gay,  efen  through  the  stifling  heat  of  that  sum- 
mer of  '62,  and  in  Louisville  Miss  Morgan  had  spent 
three  delirious  weeks,  the  guest  of  a  most  distinguished 
family,  and  there  had  she  feasted  casually,  and  there,  it 
must  be  owned,  flirted  conspicuously — officers  going  back 
to  glory  at  the  front  being  objects  of  her  liveliest  interest. 
All  that  old  talk  of  her  engagement  to  Jack  Barbour 
must  have  been  nonsense.  All  that  talk  about  Ned  Free- 
man's devotions  while  camped  at  Crab  Orchard  was  idle 
now.  If  ever  Miss  Fan  had  been  impressed  by  the  at- 
tentions of  that  tall,  blue-eyed,  young  officer,  she  had 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


obviously  gotten  bravely  over  it.  Why,  if  she  was  not 
actually  engaged  to  that  handsome  fellow  Clayton,  of 
Sherman's  staff  ("He  was  daft  about  her  and  spent  seven 
of  his  ten  days'  leave  in  lavish  devotion  at  her  feet  when 
he  ought  to  have  been  at  home  at  Cincinnati"),  it  is  be- 
cause she  had  really  lost  her  heart  to  handsome  Frank 
McKee,  major  of  Kentucky  cavalry.  All  this  did  Louis- 
ville girls  write  to  Fulmer,  and  other  friends  at  the  front, 
and  then  there  was  that  gentle-mannered,  brown-bearded, 
dignified  aide-de-camp  whom  Thomas  had  chosen  after 
Stone  River,  a  Western  man  of  Eastern  birth.  The  girls 
made  much  of  him  while  he  was  in  Kentucky,  and  wrote 
much  to  him  now  that  he  was  away,  and  all  these  talks 
had  come  sifting  through  the  knot-holes  and  crevices  of 
the  "Hotel  Wharton"  while  Freeman  lingered  there  in 
hampered  convalescence. 

And  then,  if  it  were  Miss  Morgan's  deliberate  purpose 
to  give  Ned  Freeman  to  know  she  cared  not  a  rap  for 
him,  here  within  sound  of  his  voice  sat  a  girl  sorely  in 
need  of  some  one  to  cheer  and  strengthen  her,  a  girl  who 
had  been  tenderness  and  sympathy  itself  in  her  guarded 
association  with  him,  a  girl  gentle  born  and  gently  bred  ;  a 
girl  sweet,  cultured,  and  refined,  in  spite  of  the  poverty  of 
her  late  surroundings;  a  girl  who  had  been  wooed  by 
Frances  Morgan's  own  brother,  but  had  not  been  won  ;  a 
girl  bowed  by  grief  and  anxiety  about  her  dying  father, 
and  yet  singing  for  him,  smiling  for  him,  cheering  him 
with  patience  and  devotion  to  the  very  limit  of  her 
strength.  And  so  there  had  come  the  day  when  she 
had  fainted  at  the  abrupt  announcement  that  her  soldier 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  273 

friend  and  patient  was  going  at  once  to  the  front,  and, 
though  she  had  held  aloof  from  him,  her  sudden  pros- 
tration told  a  story  she  would  have  died  rather  than 
reveal.  And  then  had  come,  last  scene  of  all,  the  death- 
parting  with  the  father  she  loved,  and — who  was  there  to 
lead  her,  sobbing,  away — to  strive  to  cheer,  comfort,  and 
console  but  Edgar  Freeman  ?  As  Wharton  put  it,  "What 
kind  of  a  man  would  Ned  Freeman  have  been  if  he 
hadn't  done  what  he  did?"  which,  it  seems,  was  to 
whisper  words  in  which  love  and  tenderness  were  linked 
with  sympathy,  and  even  when  her  heart  is  well-nigh 
broken — perhaps  it  is  sweeter  then  than  at  any  other  time 
— a  woman  loves  to  believe  that  she  is  deeply  loved. 

And  now,  somewhere  over  among  those  wooded  ridges 
and  deep  valleys  to  the  southeast,  the  Louisiana  brigade 
they  had  met  at  Murfreesboro  was  still  wearing  on  the 
arm  and  sword-hilt  the  badge  of  soldier  mourning  for 
Roderick  Claiborne,  of  whose  death  they  had  learned 
but  the  fortnight  previous.  Somewhere,  far  to  the  south, 
under  the  live-oaks  or  among  the  cypress,  the  mortal  re- 
mains of  this  sorrowing  old  soldier  had  been  laid  to  rest, 
and  the  Millaudons  had  opened  their  hearts  and  home  to 
the  bereaved  and  devoted  daughter,  little  dreaming  as 
yet  that  her  own  heart  had  been  left  beyond  the  Ten- 
nessee, that  her  hand  was  pledged  to  a  soldier  in  Union 
blue,  riding  in  the  train  of  the  sturdiest  of  the  defenders 
of  the  stars  and  stripes,  the  Virginian  who  had  risen  su- 
perior to  Virginia  tenets  and  traditions,  and  acknowl- 
edged a  higher  duty  to  the  nation  that  had  schooled  him 
for  its  service. 


174  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Ten  days  now — ten  momentous  days — had  Ned  Free- 
man ridden  in  close  attendance  on  his  great  leader,  the 
man  on  whom  the  whole  Army  of  the  Cumberland  seemed 
to  have  pinned  its  faith.  For  nearly  a  week  his  duties 
.had  been  semi-confidential  in  nature,  writing  from  dicta- 
tion or  copying  letters,  orders,  or  instructions  under  the 
general's  eyes,  while  other  aides  and  orderlies  went  gal- 
loping hither  and  yon  as  bearers  of  despatches.  Day  and 
night  there  had  been  swift  coming  and  going.  Only  a 
few  miles  to  the  front  the  long  bulwark  of  Pigeon  Moun- 
tain loomed  against  the  eastward  sky,  and  beyond  it, 
camping  about  Lafayette,  the  army  of  the  South  was 
daily  gaining  in  strength  and  numbers,  and  at  any  mo- 
ment might  come  striding  through  the  Gap  to  smite  the 
still .  scattered  divisions  of  Rosecrans,  and  beat  them  in 
detail.  Then  at  last  the  keen-eyed  leaders  of  the  cavalry 
warned  "Old  Rosy"  that  Bragg  was  on  the  move,  and  it 
suddenly  became  apparent  that,  so  far  from  heading 
southward,  he  was  marching  north  once  more.  The  plan 
was  patent  in  a  flash.  He  aimed  to  throw  himself  be- 
tween Rosecrans  and  Chattanooga  and  to  retake  the 
prize. 

Then  came  tidings  that  McCook  was  closing  in  from 
Alpine.  Then  Thomas,  with  his  four  divisions  under  his 
own  wing,  turned  swiftly  away  to  Crawfish  Springs,  and 
there — how  often  Freeman  had  to  note  in  orders  and 
despatches — it  was  the  afternoon  of  the  i8th  of  Sep- 
tember that  word  came  in  from  Wilder  on  the  far  left 
flank,  down-stream  to  the  northeast,  that  Bragg's  fellows 
in  force  were  slashing  at  the  crossing  of  Chickamauga 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  275 

Creek — that  unless  heavily  reenforced  he  could  not  hope 
to  hold  them,  and  that  both  by  Reed's  and  Alexander's 
bridges,  and  the  several  deep  but  practicable  fords,  the 
gray  columns  would  be  in  force  on  the  western  bank 
before  another  day.  If  so,  the  clinch  would  come  per- 
haps before  Rosecrans  could  possibly  be  ready. 

For  nearly  sixty  hours  there  had  been  no  rest  for  Free- 
man, and  little  for  anybody,  yet  through  it  all  what  im- 
pressed him  most  was  the  fact  that,  no  matter  how 
anxious  other  officers  might  appear,  his  general  seemed 
ever  serene,  tranquil,  and  unafraid.  The  news  that  Bragg 
had  moved  northward  was  in  itself  ominous.  It  meant 
that  with  the  reenforcements  already  up  from  the  South 
he  felt  strong  enough  to  turn  upon  the  skilled  antagonist 
who  had  maneuvered  him  out  of  Chattanooga,  strong 
enough  to  interpose  between  him  and  this  most  important 
base  and  center,  attack  him  from  the  north  and  beat  him 
into  the  mountains;  then  leisurely  turn  and  reoccupy  his 
point  of  vantage.  Little  did  Rosecrans  know  that  Bragg 
had  still  greater  reason  for  confidence — that  in  moving 
northward  only  a  dozen  miles  he  was  meeting  the  first 
arrivals  of  Longstreet's  corps  of  veterans  from  the  bat- 
tle-fields of  Virginia,  perhaps  the  finest  fighters  of  the 
South.  Hurrying  by  rail,  screened  by  the  long,  parallel 
curtains  of  mountain  range,  the  leading  division  was 
already  up  from  Ringgold,  the  others  would  be  in  touch 
by  dawn  of  the  coming  day,  and  before  another  night- 
fall Thomas  was  destined  at  last  to  confront  in  battle 
the  soldiery  of  his  own  State — Virginian  was  to  meet 
iVirginian. 


176  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

And  so  it  happened  that  along  in  the  evening,  wearied 
by  long  hours  in  the  saddle,  miles  of  riding  through 
tortuous  roads  blocked  with  marching  men,  straining 
wagon-teams,  and  lumbering  guns,  Freeman  had  rolled 
himself  in  his  blanket,  with  his  booted  feet  to  the  camp- 
fire,  his  head  pillowed  on  his  saddle,  and  Kate  Clai- 
borne's  last  letter  to  him,  ere  she  passed  beyond  the  lines, 
nestling  in  the  heart  pocket  of  his  worn  uniform  frock. 
Not  for  days  had  he  written  her  so  much  as  a  line.  In- 
deed, how  could  it  have  gone  to  her  had  he  written  ?  Not 
for  hours  until  now  had  he  had  time  to  think  of  her. 
Now  he  was  feverish  with  anxiety  and  unrest.  It  was 
almost  the  first  time  he  had  been  alone.  The  aides  had 
been  sleeping  two  in  a  tent  just  now,  and  that  had  thrown 
him  unwillingly  with  Fulmer,  whom  he  alternately  liked 
and  hated — liked  when  the  soldier  was  uppermost,  hated 
when  he  was  simply  the  society  chatterbox.  At  this  halt 
even  the  tents  had  not  been  pitched,  and  Fulmer,  too, 
was  snoozing  under  the  headquarters'  wagon.  The  gen- 
eral, with  Von  Schrader  and  Willard,  was  gone  some- 
where for  consultation  with  the  general-in-chief.  The 
rearmost  division  had  hardly  unslung  its  blankets  and 
started  its  little  cook-fires  in  the  timber,  when,  at  that 
same  slow,  steady  trot,  the  bearded  corps  commander,' 
his  hat  pulled  down  about  his  eyebrows,  and  his  little 
escort  trailing  at  his  horse's  heels,  came  riding  in  from 
the  highway,  and  men  who  long  had  studied,  and  well  had 
grown  to  know  his  face,  were  up  and  clustering  about 
him  in  the  flickering  firelight,  Freeman  joining  them. 
"We  must  move  on  at  once,"  was  the  quiet  announcement, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  277 

and  that  meant  "Everybody  up"  again,  though  most  of 
them  had  been  up  and  doing  all  the  livelong  day. 

Not  for  another  hour  had  Freeman  chance  to  see  or 
speak  with  his  general.  In  quick  succession  the  orders 
were  going,  and  it  was  his  lot  to  be  sent  spurring  in 
search  of  a  leading  division.  Pictures  of  soldiers  and 
gentlemen  were  these  who  seconded  Thomas  in  that  un- 
conquerable corps :  Baird,  courtly,  courteous,  punctilious 
to  a  fault;  Brannan,  his  mate  in  stature  and  soldierly 
bearing,  ever  dignified,  ever  precise;  Reynolds,  soldier  of 
the  old  school,  steeped  in  the  traditions  of  the  old  army, 
all  three  West  Pointers ;  and  with  them  Negley,  a  typical 
volunteer,  a  Pennsylvania  Yankee,  with  a  love  for  sol- 
diering. First  to  reach  the  rendezvous,  the  latter  had 
been  sent  in  toward  the  stream  to  find  and  relieve  our  old 
friend  Palmer,  and  send  him  on  to  join  his  own  corps 
commander,  Crittenden,  somewhere  beyond  the  mill  of 
Lee  and  Gordon.  It  was  with  the  three  West  Pointers 
Freeman  had  to  do,  and  never  did  he  forget  the  close  at- 
tention, the  prompt,  cheery,  soldierly  response  of  each  to 
the  orders  he  bore  them.  Away  they  led  their  weary,  yet 
willing  men,  striding  forth  into  the  starlit  night,  Baird  at 
the  head  of  column,  the  little  brigade  of  regulars,  under 
their  tall,  gaunt  Wolverine  of  a  leader,  foremost  in  the 
marching  column ;  Brannan's  big  division,  well  closed 
upon  their  comrades  of  Baird's,  Reynolds  bringing  up  the 
rear.  Silently,  sturdily  they  trudged  on,  hour  after  hour, 
halting  a  few  minutes  at  a  time  to  hear  the  report  of  hur- 
rying scouts,  or  clear  the  blockaded  road.  On  past 
shadowy  field  and  ghostly  orchard,  and  little  farmhouses 


278  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

at  long  intervals,  on  through  dusty  lane  or  muddy  branch, 
filling  their  canteens  at  the  little  brooks  that,  tumbling 
from  the  low  ridge  at  their  left,  went  coursing  down  to 
join  the  winding,  mist- wreathed,  lazy  current,  slowly 
creeping  through  the  low  ground  to  their  right ;  on  they 
marched,  for  matters  of  grave  import  had  come  to  the 
general's  ears,  and  "Old  Rosy,"  knowing  not  a  moment 
should  be  lost,  had  turned  as  ever  to  the  stanchest,  most 
reliable  of  his  great  supporters.  "Bragg  has  done  his 
best  to  beat  us  to  the  Gap,"  said  he.  "You  and  yours 
must  beat  him  off." 

Therefore  the  long  hours  of  march  by  starlight.  There- 
fore the  sleepless  vigil  to  the  distant  dawn.  Therefore 
the  loyal,  strenuous,  unsparing  effort  to  sustain  their 
leaders  in  the  supreme  moment  before  the  battle,  and  at 
last,  just  as  the  pallid  light  of  coming  day  shone  faintly 
through  the  scattered  tree  tops,  the  muttered  "Halt" 
came,  thrice  welcomed,  down  the  wearied  column,  and 
the  word  came  back  from  Baird's  division  that  his  flag 
was  planted  on  the  Lafayette  Road,  and  in  front  of  the 
Kelly  farmhouse.  The  road  to  Rossville  Gap  was  barred 
to  Bragg. 

Right  and  left  the  battalions  broke  ranks  and  down 
dropped  the  sturdy  marchers  to  seek  new  strength  of 
mother  earth,  and  then  came  eager  conference  with 
cavalry  officers  who  all  day  long  had  been  striving  to 
impede  and  slacken  the  gray  column,  pounding  at  the 
bridges  and  deploying  along  the  steep  banks  of  the 
stream,  and  Freeman  listened  with  tingling  ears  to  the 
tales  of  Wilder's  stout  resistance  and  its  final  result. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  279 

Overpowering  numbers  had  thrown  him  back.  Whole 
divisions  of  infantry  had  crossed  at  Reed's  and  Alexan- 
der's, but,  said  an  aide,  instead  of  shoving  west  to  the 
Gap,  they  wheeled  southward,  up-stream.  "They  are  all 
across  those  flats  down  yonder  now." 

Close  to  the  Widow  Glenn's,  the  grave-faced  general 
had  dismounted  a  moment,  as  his  rearmost  division 
passed  him  by.  These  persistent  tales  of  the  troopers 
could  indicate  but  one  thing — that  Bragg,  his  old-time 
captain,  must  have  gathered  strength.  Confidence  and 
numbers  must  indeed  be  great  that  he  should  dare  throw 
his  divisions  across  in  hopes  of  rolling  up  the  Union 
left,  as  he  had  tumbled  over  McCook's  unprotected  right 
at  Stone's  River.  Wilder  himself  Thomas  needed  to  see, 
and  Wilder  unrolled  himself  from  a  cocoon  of  wool  and 
scrubbed  the  sleep  from  his  eyes  and  gave  soldier  wel- 
come to  the  commander  of  the  center. 

The  dawn  had  broadened  to  the  flush  of  coming  day. 
The  light  was  stronger  as  it  fell  on  groups  of  sleeping 
men  and  tethered  horses.  Among  the  former,  closely 
guarded  by  blear-eyed  troopers  with  drawn  revolvers, 
half  a  dozen  graycoats  lay  huddled  together.  "Prison- 
ers ?"  queried  Thomas. 

"Yes,  sir.    Most  of  'em  from  Hood's  division." 

"Hood's  division !    You  don't  mean " 

"Clear  from  Virginia,  sir.  I  questioned  every  man  of 
them  separately,  and  they  all  tell  the  same  story,  straight 
as  a  string.  They  say  Longstreet's  whole  corps  has  come 
by  rail.  Four  of  those  fellows  we  nabbed  at  dusk  out  to- 
ward Alexander's  Bridge.  That  young  officer  yonder," 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


and  he  pointed  to  a  tall  young  gentleman  in  new  gray 
uniform,  standing  mournfully  by  the  camp-fire,  "we  ran 
on  right  down  here  by  the  Thedford  place,  not  ten  min- 
utes ago.  They  are  across  above  and  below  us  both." 

Silently  Thomas  turned  and  looked,  then  rode  quietly 
over  and  by  a  gesture  summoned  the  prisoner  to  his  side  ; 
Freeman  following,  looked  on  in  fascination.  Silently 
the  young  officer  obeyed.  One  quick,  searching  glance  he 
shot  at  the  aide-de-camp,  then  stood  looking  steadily,  yet 
with  strange,  half-repressed  emotion,  up  into  the  bearded 
face. 

"You  are  of  General  Hood's  division?"  asked  the 
general, 

"No,  General  Thomas,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  and  at 
sound  of  his  voice,  the  general  eyed  him  suddenly,  even 
sternly,  and  Freeman  bent  eagerly  forward  in  saddle. 
Somewhere  he  had  heard  those  tones  before.  „  "I  am  just 
from  Grade's  brigade,  Preston's  division.  But  Hood  is 
here  —  most  of  Longstreet's  corps  for  that  matter." 

"I  should  have  looked  for  that,"  was  presently  the 
grave  rejoinder.  "Mr.  Freeman,  escort  this  gentleman  to 
General  Rosecrans  and  then  join  me  later." 

And  so  it  happened  that  presently  Freeman  found  him- 
self riding  back  to  the  Widow  Glenn's,  with  the  tall  young 
Confederate  slowly  trudging  beside  him.  The  next  thing 
he  noticed  was  that  the  prisoner  limped  painfully. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  asked  Freeman. 

"Horse  fell  on  me  when  they  shot  him,"  was  the  an- 
swer, and  by  the  flickering  light  of  a  camp-fire,  Freeman 
saw  his  face  was  white  and  distorted  with  pain.  Dis- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  281 

mounting  at  once  and  disregarding  the  murmured  pro- 
test, Freeman  almost  lifted  his  prisoner  into  saddle, 
poured  him  a  stiff  drink  from  his  saddle-flask,  then  led 
the  tired  horse  along. 

"We'll  have  a  doctor  look  at  it  in  a  moment,"  said  he, 
and  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  doctor  was  on  hand  before 
the  general  could  see  the  prisoner.  "Will  you  have  an- 
other before  I  go?"  asked  Freeman,  again  producing  the 
flask. 

"You  are  most  kind,  suh;  but  I'm  robbing  you,  am  I 
not?" 

"You  need  it.  That's  an  ugly  twist,  and  the  doctor 
was  none  too  gentle.  Here,  take  the  flask.  I  can  get 
another,  probably,"  and  with  that  Freeman  turned  and 
was  gone,  followed  by  a  lingering  look  from  the  dark- 
eyed  prisoner,  now  seated  on  the  stoop  of  the  little  farm- 
house, with  grave  eyes  bent  upon  him.  What  would  "Old 
Rosy"  say  to  such  news  as  this  ? 

It  was  no  campaign  lie  told  only  for  effect,  and  Thomas 
knew  it.  Bragg  indeed  had  reason  to  be  bold  and  confi- 
dent, with  Lee's  strong  right  arm — Longstreet — close  at 
hand  to  sustain  him,  with  at  least  two  of  Lee's  veteran 
divisions  at  his  back.  "Much  good  has  it  done  us,"  as 
said  a  division  commander,  in  front  of  Snodgrass  Hill, 
an  hour  later,  "much  good  has  it  done  us  to  maneuver 
Bragg  out  of  Chattanooga.  While  we've  been  maneu- 
vering, using  up  our  men  at  the  rate  of  two  hundred  a 
day,  he's  been  giving  his  fellows  the  best  kind  of  a  rest 
and  getting  them  the  best  kind  of  reenforcements.  We 
are  nowhere  near  as  strong  in  numbers  or  condition  as 


282  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

we  were  three  weeks  ago.     Bragg  is  nearly  twice  as 
strong  in  both." 

The  warning  glance  of  a  staff-officer,  the  elaborate 
salute  by  which  he  strove  to  catch  the  eye  of  his  impul- 
sive chief  were  both  too  late.  Still  in  saddle,  vigilant,  yet 
calm  and  cheery,  Thomas  had  suddenly  joined  the  group, 
had  heard  probably  almost  every  word.  He  uttered  no 
rebuke ;  he  looked  in  no  wise  rebukeful.  All  he  said  that 
might  savor  of  censure  was  simply  this:  "Then  it  be- 
hooves us  to  fight  all  the  harder." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Over  the  eastward  heights  the  sun  of  mid-September 
had  climbed,  hot,  unveiled,  and  strong.  Eight  o'clock  had 
come  and  yet,  beyond  an  occasional  shot  at  the  unseen 
outposts,  no  further  sound  of  impending  battle.  Down  in 
the  lowlands,  from  the  fringing  timber  two  miles  to  the 
east,  a  bluish-gray  column  of  smoke  was  drifting  slowly 
aloft,  rising  from  smoldering  embers,  all  that  was  left  of 
Reed's  Bridge.  All  over  the  lowlands,  close  to  the  tortu- 
ous, hidden  stream,  dust-clouds  hovered  about  the  tree 
tops,  telling  of  marching  columns ;  but,  only  by  pushing 
out  through  the  woodland  lanes,  or  creeping  along  the 
hedge-rows  and  the  wrecks  of  "snake-fence,"  could  one 
catch  sight  of  the  Southern  lines,  and  more  than  a  peep 
was  not  permitted.  All  along  the  front  stretched  that  im- 
penetrable, yet  almost  invisible  screen  of  skirmishers,  that 
resisted  every  effort  to  "feel"  the  battle  ranks.  With  the 
deliberation  of  assured  success,  Bragg's  division  chiefs 
were  forming  for  the  attack  that  was  planned  to  roll  the 
Union  left  back  upon  its  supposed  center  at  the  mill. 
They  had  only  just  begun  to  learn  that  by  marching  all 
the  night  long,  Major  Slow  Trot  had  seized  the  higher 
ground  toward  Mission  Ridge,  and  held  the  Rossville 
Road.  They  had  not  been  told  to  look  for  more  than  a 
cavalry  screen,  and  Hood,  brushing  that  away,  in  the  late 
afternoon,  had  gone  on  southward  and  into  bivouac  on 
the  flats  around  the  Park  and  Thedford  farms ;  where  at 


284  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

dawn  of  this  eventful  day  his  lines  almost  confronted 
those  of  his  comrade  Preston;  where  the  brigade  of 
Gracie,  crossing  at  Dalton's  Ford,  had  lurked  fireless  in 
the  shadows  throughout  the  night.  "That  man's  father 
and  mine,"  said  Thomas,  to  his  young  aide,  "hailed  from 
almost  the  same  county  in  the  Old  Dominion.  The 
Gracies  were  Petersburgers  who  moved  North  years  be- 
fore the  war." 

And  now,  soon  after  eight,  comes  Colonel  Dan  Mc- 
Cook,  swift-spurring  from  the  front,  and  full  to  the  brim 
of  the  fighting  spirit  of  his  famous  tribe.  Afar  to  the 
right  flank — the  south,  his  brother,  the  burly  major-gen- 
eral who  has  been  in  dire  peril  of  being  cut  off,  is  speed- 
ing his  divisions  northwestward  from  McLemore's  Cove. 
But  Sheridan,  at  least,  has  many  a  weary  mile  to  trudge 
before  he  can  reach  the  comrade  corps,  already  facing 
the  enemy  in  line  of  battle.  Here  at  the  extreme  left,  the 
north,  Colonel  Dan  had  been  "spiering"  about,  since 
dawn,  well  to  the  rear  of  the  sweeping  lines  of  Walker, 
and  there,  farther  still  to  the  right  rear  of  Hood's  strong 
division — full  two  miles  to  the  north  of  where  Buckner  is 
ranging  his  dusty  columns  into  line  with  Hood — he  has 
located  a  single  brigade  of  "Johnnies"  down  in  the  woods 
by  the  burning  bridge.  Colonel  Dan  wants  a  brigade  or 
two  of  infantry  to  go  in  and  gobble  them.  'Tis  a  chance 
not  to  be  lost.  So  while  waiting  for  his  chief  to  close 
and  form  the  columns  of  Crittenden  and  McCook  to  the 
south  of  him,  Thomas  orders  big,  soldierly  John  Brannan 
forward,  pointing  one  brigade  along  the  road  to  Alex- 
ander's Bridge,  while  two  others,  Croxton  in  front,  push 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  285 

ahead  through  the  woods  toward  Reed's  in  search  of  this 
stray  detachment ;  and,  at  ten  o'clock  by  the  watch,  Crox- 
ton's  men  come  into  view,  only  pistol-shot  distance,  of  a 
savage  little  command,  rudely  wakened  from  a  much- 
needed  snooze,  and  fighting  mad  in  consequence.  The 
lines  grappled  like  bulldogs  on  the  instant,  and  the  back- 
ing and  filling  and  maneuvering  of  the  six  weeks  gone 
is  all  a  thing  of  the  past.  In  all  its  furious  import, 
Chickamauga — bloodiest  battle  of  the  West  and  well-nigh 
of  the  war — had  burst  in  thunder  that  goes  rolling  south- 
ward toward  the  listening  lines,  and  echoing  northward 
along  the  rocky  barrier  that  hems  the  "Gateway  of  the 
Gods." 

In  all  the  shifting  fortunes  of  that  fearful  day,  it  was 
Ned  Freeman's  lot  to  bear  ceaseless  and  stirring  part.  He 
had  slept  not  a  wink  since  the  cat-nap  at  Crawfish 
Springs,  hut  his  leonine  chief  had  slept  as  little,  nor 
seemed  to  heed  it.  Tackled  in  flank  by  those  blue  war- 
dogs,  as  he  was  marching  southwest  across  the  fields, 
Walker,  of  Georgia  ("Little  Big  Man"  of  the  South, 
than  whom  braver  soldier  never  fought  nor  fell)  found 
himself  compelled  to  turn  and  beat  off  these  unlooked-for 
assailants,  and  Bragg,  waiting  at  the  Thedford  crossing 
of  the  stream  behind  the  dense  lines  of  Hood  and  Buck- 
ner,  waiting  only  for  the  word  that  the  latter's  formation 
was  complete,  to  order  the  grand  assault,  was  compelled 
to  stop  and  think,  then  send  aid.  The. battle  he  planned  to 
begin  right  here  along  the  Lafayette  Road,  'twixt  Widow 
Glenn's  and  Gordon's  Mill,  had  broken  out  full  two  miles 
to  the  north.  "Old  Rosy"  had  stolen  a  march  on  him. 


286  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Thomas,  his  old-time  senior  first  lieutenant,  was  his  no 
longer.  Loyally,  stanchly,  as  he  had  ever  backed  his  grim 
battery  commander  in  the  Mexican  War  days,  even  when 
better  judgment  told  him  Bragg  was  unwise — even,  as  it 
transpired  when  he  in  person  had  to  bear  the  odium  of  his 
captain's  error — Thomas  now  was  backing  the  "officers 
appointed  over  him,"  and  fighting  superbly  for  his  coun- 
try's flag. 

Dazed  for  a  moment  by  this  most  unlooked-for  play, 
disappointed  in  his  plan  of  battle,  Bragg  let  slip  a  splendid 
opportunity.  Had  he  launched  in  at  once  with  his  massed 
column  of  attack,  he  would  have  found  but  little  to  op- 
pose him,  could  have  cut  off  Van  Cleve  and  Sheridan, 
Wood  and  Negley  at  the  south,  swept  Palmer  off  the  field 
in  his  immediate  front,  and  rolled  up  anything  that  was 
left  about  Rosecrans  at  the  Widow  Glenn's.  Instead  he 
started  Cheatham  off  to  the  aid  of  Walker,  sought  to  en- 
velop and  throttle  Thomas,  and  lost  precious  hours  of  the 
day  in  a  fearful,  yet  really  fruitless,  fight.  One  brigade 
after  another,  on  both  sides,  reeled  out  of  battle,  its 
ammunition  spent,  its  strength  exhausted,  its  numbers 
sore  reduced.  Division  after  division,  as  it  reached  the 
circle  of  fire,  was  sent  in  wherever  the  line  seemed  weak- 
est, to  the  end  that  corps  organizations  were  ignored; 
the  men  of  Thomas,  Crittenden,  and  McCook  fought  in- 
termingled and  facing  every  which  way.  Not  until  after- 
noon did  Bragg  essay  a  westward  charge  across  the  Ross- 
ville-Lafayette  Road.  Then  the  conflict  waged  was  fear- 
ful in  its  intensity,  and  for  a  time  it  looked  as  though  it 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  287 

ought  to  be  Stone  River  over  again — a  turn  and  roll  of 
the  human  tide  till  it  broke  at  the  feet  of  Thomas.  But 
the  declining  sun  saw  the  banners  of  Negley  and  Bran- 
nan,  the  far  right  and  left  divisions  of  the  early  morning, 
waving  in  side  by  side  here  at  the  Union  center,  and 
finally  fluttering  in  triumph  over  the  smoking,  death- 
strewn  field.  Fierce  and  furious  as  had  been  the  pound- 
ing of  the  lifelong  day,  marked  as  had  been  Bragg's 
superiority  in  numbers,  Rosecrans  had  held  his  own.  The 
roads,  the  gaps  to  the  rear,  the  field  itself  were  still  in 
his  hands.  It  was  no  man's  battle  yet.  The  night  of 
respite  had  come  at  last,  and  though  each  side  had  lost 
severely  in  officers  and  men,  and  whole  batteries  had  been 
taken  and  retaken,  the  score  stood  nothing  to  nothing  as 
the  sun  went  down. 

Then  came  the  call  to  conference  at  the  Widow  Glenn's, 
the  hour  of  consultation  between  the  general  command- 
ing and  his  corps  leaders,  a  somber  group  of  battle- 
stained  men,  whose  eyes  were  haggard  from  loss  of  sleep, 
whose  bearded  faces  were  lined  with  care  and  grim  deter- 
mination. And  while  these,  the  leaders,  gathered  about 
their  chief,  staff-officers,  aides,  and  orderlies  threw  them- 
selves upon  the  ground  without,  huddled  in  low-toned 
chat,  or  dropped  in  exhaustion  off  to  dreamless  sleep.  To 
them  who  wore  the  colors  of  the  Union  no  earthly  help 
could  come ;  of  reenforcements  there  was  no  hope  what- 
ever; of  reserves  they  had  nothing  but  Granger's  hand- 
ful at  the  northward  gap.  The  South,  staggering  from 
the  blows  received  ten  weeks  before  at  Gettysburg  and  at 


288  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Vicksburg,  had  wisdom  in  its  war  office,  a  pull-together 
spirit  among  its  leaders,  shorter  lines  of  communication, 
and  so  sent  by  thousands  its  fighting  men  and  its  ablest 
generals  to  the  aid  of  Bragg.  The  North,  delirious  with 
joy  over  the  great  victories  of  July,  had  stubborn  Halleck 
for  its  military  head,  and,  with  Grant  urging  instant  move 
against  Mobile — a  something  sure  to  break  up  Bragg  and 
bolster  Rosecrans — with  tens  of  thousands  of  its  willing 
men  lying  idle  in  their  camps,  not  so  much  as  one  battal- 
ion was  sent  in  time  to  aid  the  fast  depleting  ranks  of  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland,  far  in  the  heart  of  the  enemy's 
country,  with  thronging  foes  "on  every  side.  "Old  Brains" 
at  Washington  had  left  "Old  Rosy"  in  Georgia  to  fight 
unaided  and  alone. 

No  wonder  men  spoke  in  low  and  guarded  tone,  when 
now  they  spoke  at  all.  The  few  prisoners,  gathered  after 
nightfall,  told  their  tale  with  almost  impudent  rejoicing. 
"Just  you  wait  till  morning  and  see  what'll  happen! 
Longstreet's  with  us  now  and  a  whole  lot  more  coming. 
We'll  be  on  you,  two  to  one,  at  sunup."  Indeed  had  they 
reason  to  boast  themselves. 

On  the  hush  of  the  starlit  night,  from  the  open  win- 
dows of  the  old  farmhouse,  the  home  of  the  Widow 
Glenn,  there  rose  the  sound  of  a  rich,  melodious  voice, 
and  all  waking  men  within  range  lent  ear  to  listen.  It 
was  McCook,  singing  at  the  close  of  the  council,  and  at 
his  chief's  request,  the  "Hymn  of  the  Hebrew  Maiden." 
The  deeply  religious  nature  of  Rosecrans,  stirred  to  its 
depth  by  the  swift-coming  perils  of  the  week  gone  by, 
and  the  fearful  strain  and  responsibility  of  the  long  day 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  289 

of  battle,  had   sought  solace  in  the  noble  lines  of  the 
minstrel : 

"When  Israel  of  the  Lord  beloved, 
Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came, 
Her  father's  God  before  her  moved 
An  awful  guide  in  smoke  and  flame." 

Wearied  as  they  were,  his  comrades  listened  intent  un- 
til the  last  note  of  the  deep  barytone  died  away.  Then, 
in  silence  and  solemnity,  the  conference  broke  up;  the 
generals  clasped  hands,  parted,  mounted,  and  rode 
thoughtfully  away.  Much  remained  to  be  done.  A  read- 
justment of  the  lines  had  already  been  effected,  and  the 
first  orders  of  Thomas  after  closing  his  divisions  were  to 
fortify.  Spades  they  had  none;  but,  gathering  rails, 
stones,  stumps — anything  that  would  stop  a  bullet,  the 
wearied  men  went  searching  through  the  woods  for  fallen 
timber ;  the  axes  rang  the  livelong  night,  and  everywhere 
that  the  brigades  of  Thomas  lay  crouched  for  the  coming 
day,  the  battle-front  was  bordered  by  long  hurdles  of  log 
and  sapling;  and  the  listening  pickets  in  gray,  sprinkled 
everywhere  at  the  foot  of  the  crowded  slopes,  sent  back 
word  to  the  supports  to  "watch  out"  well  in  the  morning, 
the  Yanks  had  fortified  their  entire  front. 

And  Bragg,  too,  had  been  busy.  His  whole  plan  had 
been  disrupted,  his  entire  organization  had  now  to  be 
remodeled.  Giving  Longstreet  command  over  his  left, 
the  southern  wing,  he  entrusted  the  right,  the  northern, 
to  the  senior  of  his  lieutenant-generals,  Polk,  two  years 
agone  right  reverend  bishop  in  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Church,  a  West  Pointer  of  distinction  turned  prelate  of 


290  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


eminence,  and  between  Bragg  and  his  ecclesiastical  sec- 
ond in  command  there  had  been  little  sympathy  and  less 
accord.  Bragg,  austere,  grim,  forbidding  in  voice  and 
manner,  embittered  by  the  failure  of  his  Kentucky  expe- 
dition, the  empty  honors  of  Stone's  River,  the  taunts  of 
the  Southern  press  and  people,  had  alienated  even  those 
who  believed  in  his  soldiership.  Two  of  his  best  generals, 
Buckner  and  Breckinridge,  were  Kentuckians,  and  he 
had  insulted  Kentucky.  Superb  fighters  and  leaders  of 
men  were  many  of  his  subordinates,  notably  Walker,  Pat 
Cleburne,  Forrest,  and  Cheatham.  Famous  commanders 
were  they  who  had  come  to  his  aid,  Longstreet,  Hood, 
Preston,  and  Stewart,  yet  he  had  not  the  gift  of  drawing 
his  juniors  to  him,  whereas  Rosecrans  was  believed  in 
and  beloved,  and  Thomas  well-nigh  worshiped.  Bragg 
had  lost  Hardee,  whom  the  President  had  detached  to 
Mississippi.  He  had  in  his  stead  General  D.  H.  Hill, 
who  disliked  him  from  the  start,  but  he  had  under  him 
and  on  the  field  some  seventy  thousand  trained  fighters 
to  oppose  to  the  possible  sixty  thousand  of  the  Army  of 
the  Cumberland.  He  had  victory  within  his  grasp  if  he 
could  only  break  the  bulldog  hold  of  that  massive,  slow- 
speaking,  slow-moving,  indomitable  leader  of  the  Union 
left,  his  old-time  first  lieutenant.  Deep  into  the  night  he 
planned  and  pondered  and  listened  to  varying  reports 
from  the  front.  There  was  not  too  much  comfort  in  the 
tale  that  Rosecrans  was  drawing  back  his  lines,  that  the 
right  and  center  were  now  "refused"  and  gathered  along 
the  foothills  back  of  the  Widow  Glenn's ;  that  the  Lafay- 
ette Road,  so  stubbornly  defended  all  the  hot  September 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  291 

day,  was  now  abandoned  to  his  pickets  from  the  Brother- 
ton  place  down  to  Viniard's,  and  thence  to  the  Gordon 
Mill.  All  that  was  very  well,  but  ill  omen  was  it  that  all 
reports  said  Thomas  was  fortifying.  Then  Thomas 
meant  to  stay.  What  would  Bragg  not  give  this  solemn 
midnight,  'twixt  Saturday  and  Sunday,  could  he  but  know 
just  what  Thomas  himself  was  thinking  and  doing? 

There  would  have  been  little  more  comfort,  if  any. 
Late  in  the  night,  an  aide-de-camp,  riding  back  toward 
Snodgrass  Hill  from  the  lines  at  Kelly's  farm,  drifted  in 
among  the  little  camp-fires  and  the  blanketed  forms 
sprawled  everywhere  through  the  timber.  He  had  report 
to  make  of  movement  around  our  left,  of  tramping  col- 
umns and  clinking  guns,  stealthily  circling  through  the 
darkness  to  enwrap  our  northward  flank  and  reach  out 
for  Rossville  Gap.  He  murmured  inquiry  for  General 
Thomas;  a  staff-officer  uncoiled  from  his  blanket,  and, 
with  finger  to  his  lips,  whispered  question  as  to  the 
tidings,  and  was  told. 

"He  knew  it  all  an  hour  ago,"  was  the  brief  reply. 
"General  Rosecrans  has  been  notified.  You  may  as  well 
go  back  and  tell  your  general  not  to  bother,"  and  the  aide 
took  one  long  look  about  him  and  departed,  reassured. 
He  never  forgot  the  picture. 

Under  a  little  tree,  on  the  bare  and  turfless  ground, 
wrapped  in  his  cloak,  his  hat  pulled  over  his  broad  fore- 
head, his  massive  head  supported  on  the  gauntleted  right 
hand,  there  lay  in  placid  slumber  the  soldier  charged 
with  the  safety  of  the  threatened  left.  The  flickering  fire- 
light played  on  the  red  gold  of  his  beard,  over  the  fine, 


292  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

firm  lines  of  the  tranquil  face,  over  the  curves  of  the 
massive  form.  Booted,  spurred,  his  sword,  in  the  rusting 
sheath,  clasped  loosely  in  the  fingers  of  the  left  hand,  he 
lay,  ready  for  instant  action,  yet  seeking  strength  and 
vigor  in  the  oblivion  of  restful  slumber.  About  him, 
close  at  hand,  lay  his  immediate  followers,  the  staff,  Wil- 
lard,  Furber,  Freeman  nearest,  all  sleeping  the  sleep  of 
exhaustion,  confident  in  their  security,  since  he,  their 
leader,  was  confident.  Never  a  doubt  had  Thomas  since 
the  night  of  Zollicoffer's  dash  at  Mill  Springs;  and  so, 
guarded  by  the  encircling  lines  of  the  men  who  loved  him 
and  in  whom,  next  to  the  God  he  served,  our  great  leader 
put  his  trust,  content  as  wearied  child  in  mother's  arms, 
the  lion  slept  against  the  battle  morn  of  the  coming 
morrow. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

All  too  soon  to  many  a  wearied  soldier  that  morning 
came,  with  a  chill,  gray  mist  creeping  in  dense,  uprolling 
volume  from  the  sluggish  Chickamauga,  and  settling  like 
a  feathery  pall  over  the  adjacent  fields.  Indistinguish- 
able in  the  friendly  veil,  the  gray  battle-lines  of  the  South 
shook  from  their  haggard  eyes  the  mists  of  sleep,  and 
then,  catlike,  came  crouching  onward  for  their  spring. 
All  over  the  low  ground,  close  to  the  stream  where  lurked 
the  fierce  battalions  of  the  South,  the  God  of  Battles  had 
drawn  the  fleecy  shroud  that  hid  his  warrior  sons  from 
sight  of  even  the  foremost  pickets  of  the  Union.  All  over 
the  wooded  foothills,  the  higher  ground,  where  the  blue- 
clad  ranks  stood  silently  to  arms,  in  tiny  wisps  and  col- 
umns the  smoke  from  many  a  watch-fire  drifted  slowly  to 
the  tree  tops,  heralding  rather  than  concealing  the  forma- 
tion of  the  national  force,  and,  in  this  wise,  once  again 
the  great  antagonists  faced  each  other  for  a  fatal  day, 
while,  North  and  South,  in  a  thousand  peaceful  villages, 
far  from  the  seat  of  war,  the  Sabbath  bells  were  ringing 
in  the  sun  of  God's  holy  day,  and  calling  the  faithful  to 
rise  and  worship,  and  pray  for  father,  husband,  son,  or 
brother  battling  somewhere  for  the  flag  of  his  faith  and 
love. 

Up  with  the  dawn  "Old  Rosy"  was  riding  his  lines 
from  right  to  left  and  left  to  right  again,  misliking  much 
that  impermeable  screen  that  defied  the  sharpest  vision. 


294  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Dame  Nature  was  giving  aid  and  comfort  to  his  enemy, 
and,  as  ever,  taking  sides  against  the  Army  of  the  Cum- 
berland. Expecting  every  instant  to  hear  the  terrific 
burst  of  yells  with  which  the  soldiers  of  the  South  were 
wont  to  hurl  themselves  upon  the  foe,  the  Union  leader 
could  form  no  idea  of  what  point  of  his  line  the  first 
fierce  blow  would  come.  And  so  with  straining  eyes  and 
ears  and  nerves,  the  blue  ranks  knelt  or  lay  behind  the  log 
barricade  and  watched  and  waited,  waited  in  bewilder- 
ment a  long  hour,  another  still,  until  the  sun  was  climbing 
hot  and  high  above  the  Carolina  Mountains  to  the  east, 
until  the  gray  mist  began  slowly  to  dissolve,  and  still  they 
came  not.  Something  surely  had  miscarried. 

Something  indeed!  If  Rosecrans  watched  in  preplex- 
ity,  Bragg  waited,  fuming  with  impatience  and  with 
wrath.  Striding  up  and  down  at  his  headquarters,  he 
sent  message  after  message  to  the  right,  demanding  in- 
stant action.  Well  might  he  rage,  for  precious  hours 
were  flitting  and  the  sheltering  fog  was  melting  away. 
He  had  given  to  Longstreet  command  over  all  the  forces 
of  his  left  wing.  He  had  given  to  Polk,  his  priestly  sec- 
ond, dominion  over  all  the  right;  and  with  it,  as  he  ever 
declared,  positive  orders  to  attack,  full  strength,  the  con- 
vex lines  of  Thomas  at  dawn ;  and  Polk  had  unaccounta- 
bly misunderstood  and  unconscionably  failed  him.  What 
Dame  Nature  had  done  to  help  the  South,  said  Bragg, 
the  church  militant  had  undone.  The  fierce  and  sudden 
assault  to  be  led  by  Bre.ckinridge  at  six  came  never 
until  nine,  and  those  three  hours  were  of  priceless  value 
at  the  left. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  295 

Confident  that  every  effort  would  be  made  to  seize 
and  hold  the  Rossville  Road,  the  real  road  to  his  base  at 
Chattanooga,  Rosecrans  had  early  decided  to  strengthen 
Thomas,  and  to  this  end  ordered  Negley's  division  to  quit 
its  post  in  front  of  the  niter  vats,  and  march  straightway 
to  the  extreme  left.  John  Beatty,  with  his  four  regiments, 
managed  to  get  away  in  time,  and,  taking  position  in  the 
open  field  in  front  of  Savannah  Church,  alone  repre- 
sented Negley  at  the  point  of  danger,  for  the  other  two 
brigades  ctiil  hugged  their  posts  of  the  night  gone  by,  and 
to  the  indignation  of  Rosecrans,  another  hour  passed  and 
the  order  had  not  been  obeyed. 

And  then  happened  one  of  those  luckless  things  that 
breed  discord  among  the  best  of  men,  and  stir  the  fight- 
ing blood  of  soldiers  to  strife  among  themselves,  when 
every  effort  should  be  centered  on  the  common  foe. 
Beatty's  brigade  had  been  posted  in  reserve  well  to  the 
rear  of  these  of  Sirwell  and  Stanley.  Negley  himself 
was  with  his  advanced  line.  Just  back  of  "Old  Rosy's" 
headquarters,  and  half-way  up  the  heights,  Crittenden's 
three  divisions  lay  behind  their  stacked  arms,  well  know- 
ing it  wouldn't  be  long  before  they  would  be  sorely 
needed  somewhere,  and  presently  the  mandate  came. 
Crittenden,  son  of  the  famous  John  J.,  of  Kentucky,  rode 
up  to  Wood  of  the  old  dragoons  of  the  regular  service, 
now  commander  of  his  center  division,  with  direction  to 
advance  and  relieve  Negley,  who  was  ordered  over  to  the 
left.  Both  men  were  by  this  time  experienced  soldiers, 
and  each  should  have  known  the  full  meaning  of  the 
order.  What  Wood  did  was  to  obey  just  one-third  of  it. 


296  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

He  advanced  to  the  point  where  Beatty  had  been  posted 
in  reserve  and  there  halted  his  men — two  brigades  reliev- 
ing the  one  behind,  instead  of  the  two  in  front,  and  there 
he  waited. 

So,  too,  did  Negley  wait  on  the  foremost  line.  He 
could  not  let  go  until  replaced,  and  on  him  burst  the 
initial  rumble  of  "Old  Rosy's"  rebuke — "You  should  have 
started  over  an  hour  ago/'  and  when  told  that  no  relief 
had  been  seen  or  heard  of,  still  more  wrathfully  the  com- 
mander sought  a  deserving  victim  and  found  it,  as  he 
thought,  in  Wood.  On  Wood  there  fell  the  sharpest 
censure  of  a  morning  full  of  stinging  words,  and,  with 
Negley  nettled  and  Wood  incensed,  and  the  chief  bristling 
with  nerve  tension  and  exasperation,  there  was  portent 
of  a  storm  within  the  lines  that  might  sap  the  strength 
the  army  needed  to  withstand  the  fury  of  the  storm  so 
soon  to  burst  without. 

And  surely  enough  the  hapless  mischance  of  the  early 
morning  bore  weightily  in  bringing  on  the  fell  disaster 
of  the  burning  noon.  Right  valiantly  did  John  Beatty 
sustain  the  honor  of  his  division,  when  at  last,  toward  ten, 
the  far-overlapping  lines  of  Breckinridge  swept  round 
the  left  of  Thomas  and  came  surging  down  the  rear. 
Right  valiantly,  three  separate  times,  did  Breckinridge, 
backed  by  Forrest  and  Walker,  charge  those  fire-spitting 
woodworks  of  the  Union  left,  only  to  be  beaten  back  with 
bitter  loss,  for  the  lines  of  Thomas  simply  drew  closer 
together  and  clung  with  grim  tenacity  to  their  ground. 
Every  blow  seemed  to  weld  their  mettled  ranks  more 
rigidly  together,  and  when  the  hot  sun  of  the  nearing 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  297 

noontide  climbed  to  within  an  hour  of  the  zenith,  and  the 
assailants  drew  back,  gasping  for  breath,  Rosecrans  lifted 
up  his  heart  to  the  God  of  Battles  and  thanked  him  for 
the  sturdy  soldier  who  indomitably  held  the  key  to  Ross- 
ville,  and  the  lines  of  the  beleaguered  left.  Bent  like  the 
blade  of  a  sickle,  with  its  convex  to  the  foe,  the  comrade 
divisions  of  Baird,  Johnson,  Palmer,  and  Reynolds  curved 
from  point  to  hilt,  and  against  that  arch  of  steel  the 
storm  of  battle  had  raged  and  broken  in  vain. 

But  now  came  the  deluge. 

Sirwell's  brigade,  of  Negley,  was  still  in  march  for  the 
left  of  the  line,  its  rearmost  regiment  trailing  along  at  the 
base  of  Snodgrass  Hill,  some  half  a  mile  west  of  Rey- 
nolds' battle-line.  Van  Cleve's  whole  division — the  bri- 
gades of  Barnes,  Dick,  and  Sam  Beatty — still  nearer  the 
battle-line,  was  also  marching  northward,  for  Thomas 
had  marked  the  superiority  of  the  Southern  numbers  in 
his  front,  noted  the  force,  ever  reaching  round  his  left  to 
seize  the  Rossville  Road,  and  had  called  for  further  aid. 
Just  to  the  right  of  Reynolds,  but  a  few  rods  back  of  the 
general  line,  John  Brannan  had  ranged  the  brigades  of 
Croxton  and  Connell — the  Poe  farm  enclosure  in  front 
of  Croxton  (he  who  opened  the  ball  of  Saturday  morn- 
ing), the  Brotherton  farmhouse  and  fields  to  the  right 
front  of  Connell.  Just  in  rear  of  Brotherton,  a  trifle  in 
advance  of  Brannan's  line,  were  the  two  brigades  of 
Harker  and  Buell  of  the  still  aggrieved  and  smarting 
Wood.  They  were  all  he  had,  for  Wagner,  his  third,  had 
been  held  as  guard  of  Chattanooga.  To  the  right  of 
Wood,  still  along  the  southerly  extended  line,  was  Car- 


298  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

lin's  brigade  of  Davis's  division,  with  Martin's  posted  four 
hundred  yards  to  the  rear  in  support.  Off  to  the  right 
rear,  marching  up  from  Crawfish  Springs,  came  Sheri- 
dan's strong  division,  its  head  of  column  already  past 
the  Widow  Glenn's;  and  back  of  the  Dyer  orchard,  on 
high  ground  overlooking  the  dusty  groves  and  fields, 
Rosecrans  had  grouped  his  anxious  staff,  Garfield  tower- 
ing in  their  midst,  the  gifted  successor  of  the  lamented 
Garesche.  Afar  off  in  front  of  Thomas  the  crash  of 
volleys  and  boom  of  cannon  still  rumbled  on  the  pulsing 
air,  but  not  a  foot  had  Thomas  flinched.  The  left  was 
planted  solid.  How,  now,  as  to  the  right? 

It  looked  strong  enough  at  the  northward  end,  but  it 
needed  Sheridan  at  the  other  flank.  It  had  borne  no 
strain,  save  that  of  suspense,  for  eighteen  hours.  It  lay 
with  many  an  open  field  in  its  front,  so  far  as  the  Lafay- 
ette highway.  Beyond  that,  however,  there  was  mystery, 
and  there  might  be  mischief,  for  the  woods  were  thick, 
and  the  gray  skirmish-line  along  their  westward  edge 
resented  all  effort  to  inquire  within.  Not  yet  had  Long- 
street  opened,  and  they  who  knew  him  well  knew  that 
when  he  struck  it  was  with  the  blow  of  a  thunderbolt. 

And  well  they  reasoned,  for  by  eleven  o'clock  he  had 
arrayed,  under  cover  of  his  leafy  screen,  three  strong 
divisions  in  column  of  attack,  with  Bushrod  Johnson 
square  in  front  of  Wood  and  barely  half  a  mile  away, 
with  Stewart  and  Hindman  on  the  wings,  with  batteries 
bristling  everywhere  in  the  brigade  intervals.  Eighteen 
thousand  men  he  meant  to  launch  against  the  Union  cen- 
ter, and  with  grim-visaged  Bragg  looking  eagerly  on,  and 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  299 

the  divisions  of  Cleburne  and  Preston  posted  in  support  of 
his  flanks,  all  dispositions  were  just  about  completed  as 
that  fateful  hour,  eleven,  approached.  Anxiously,  keenly 
watching  the  indications  in  his  immediate  front,  soldierly 
Brannan  had  seen  enough  to  convince  him  that  an  attack 
in  tremendous  force  was  coming,  and  was  riding  back  to 
where  he  had  secreted  his  line  in  the  fringing  wood, 
when  met  and  almost  confounded  by  an  order  to  quit  that 
position  and  move  to  the  extreme  left,  reporting  to  Gen- 
eral Thomas  on  the  way.  "Take  this  glass  and  see  for 
yourself,"  said  he  to  the  staff-officer,  and,  peering 
through,  the  aide-de-camp  could  make  out  dim  lines  in 
gray  crouching  slowly  forward  through  the  opposite  tim- 
ber-belt, and,  clapping  spurs  to  his  steed,  went  tearing 
away  to  Rosecrans  with  Brannan's  message :  "The  at- 
tack is  coming  here  and  now.  Shall  I  obey  the  order 
to  go?" 

But  before  ever  that  galloping  aide  could  reach  his 
chief,  one  more  stroke  of  that  devil's  own  luck,  that  had 
ever  beset  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  now  fell  full  on 
its  sore-troubled  commander.  A  veteran  officer,  foreign- 
scnooled,  riding  southward  from  Thomas  to  note  the 
lines,  came  trotting  out  ten  minutes  earlier  on  what  he 
took  in  his  surprise  to  be  a  gap  between  the  right  of 
Reynolds's  division  and  the  left  of  Wood's.  Never  think- 
ing to  study  the  belt  of  timber  at  his  right  hand  as  he 
rode,  he  worried  on  to  Wood  with  inquiry  as  to  what  had 
become  of  Brannan,  and  Wood,  still  smarting  from  the 
reprimand  of  the  earlier  morning,  was  in  no  mood  for 
conversation.  It  resulted  in  Von  Schrader's  spurring  off 


300  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

himself  in  search  of  Rosecrans,  and  finding  him,  reported 
Brannan  out  of  line.  "Ha !  Prompt  work  for  Brannan ! 
There's  a  man  who  jumps  when  he  gets  the  order  to  go !" 
The  order  had  gone  barely  thirty  minutes,  yet  here  was 
report  that  Brannan  was  already  off  before  reply  could 
reach  headquarters.  Well  done,  Brannan! 

But  that  leaves  a  gap,  and  a  big  one,  in  the  line.  That 
must  not  be.  No.  Rosecrans  turns  at  once  to  the  nearest 
staff-officer:  "Order  Wood  to  close  in  to  his  left  at  once 
on  Reynolds,"  and  the  duty  of  his  transmission  fell  to 
Major  Bond,  and  Bond  wrote  these  exact  words : 

"The  general  commanding  directs  you  to  close  up  on 
Reynolds  as  fast  as  possible  and  support  him." 

It  was  an  orderly,  not  an  officer,  who  galloped  away 
with  it,  and  in  the  course  of  twenty  minutes  came  trotting 
back.  "What  said  the  general?"  asked  some  one,  anx- 
ious to  know. 

"He  said  he  was  glad  the  order  came  in  writing.  It 
would  be  a  good  thing  to  have  for  future  reference,"  was 
the  answer,  and  men  looked  at  each  other  with  troubled 
eyes.  .  What  had  got  into  Wood  ? 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  Brannan,  deeming  it  sure 
that  attack  in  force  was  coming,  knew  that  disaster  would 
result  from  his  obeying  an  order  to  quit  the  line,  and  so 
ventured  to  send  word  to  his  chief  and  wait.  Wood, 
knowing  that  Brannan  had  not  gone — that  there  was  no 
gap  betwixt  him  and  Reynolds,  and  possibly,  too?  expect- 
ant of  attack,  read  his  order  literally ;  remembered  wrath- 
fnlly  the  sting  of  "Old  Rosy's"  rebuke  for  his  failure 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  301 

literally  to  obey  an  earlier  order,  and,  carefully  filing 
away  the  hurriedly  penciled  lines  to  be  his  defense  should 
disaster  follow,  invited  that  disaster,  faced  his  division  to 
the  rear  and,  marching  away  behind  the  ranks  of  Bran- 
nan,  left  that  fatal  half-mile  gap  in  the  line. 

The  North  knew  the  rest  within  twenty  hours.  It  hap- 
pened just  as  Longstreet  gave  the  word  "advance,"  and 
ten  minutes  later,  in  wild,  tumultuous,  triumphant  rush, 
by  brigades  the  charging  column,  with  the  light  batteries 
lashing  alongside,  a  whole  army-corps,  practically,  hurled 
itself  upon  that  miserable  break  in  the  battle-front;  went 
tearing  through  in  a  yelling  torrent  of  gray ;  doubling  the 
right  of  Brannan  back  on  the  base  of  Snodgrass  Hill; 
tumbling  over  the  unlimbered  guns  in  the  Dyer  field; 
overwhelming  the  little  brigades  of  Laiboldt  and  Lytle, 
vainly  striving  to  stem  the  flood;  crushing  the  scattered 
battalions  of  Davis  and  Sheridan;  striking  Wood  him- 
self in  flank  and  sending  everything  about  headquarters — 
Rosecrans,  Crittenden,  and  McCook,  whirling  away  in  the 
rush  and  confusion,  driving  them  headlong  for  the  shel- 
tering heights  in  rear ;  and,  believing  everything  lost  and 
no  stand  possible  short  of  the  works  of  Chattanooga, 
thither — almost  broken-hearted  and  in  mental  agony  that 
bordered  on  collapse — thither  spurred  Rosecrans,  and 
with  him  went  the  chiefs  of  his  center  and  left.  There 
was  left  to  him  but  one  hope,  that  of  rallying  his  men 
with  their  backs  to  the  swirling  Tennessee,  facing  the 
Southland  again  at  the  Gateway  of  the  Gods. 

Yes,  he  whose  dauntless  courage  and  thrilling  example 
had  turned  the  rout  of  the  right  wing  at  Stone  River 


302  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

into  what  was  termed  a  personal  victory,  now  at  Chicka- 
mauga sped  miles  to  the  rear,  convinced  that  his  whole 
army  was  in  mad  retreat — that  there  was  only  one  place 
to  rally  and  reform  it.  So  believing,  his  acts  could  be 
explained  and  might  even  be  justified,  but  McCook  and 
Crittenden  went,  too,  and  left  their  spent  and  shattered 
corps  behind  them.  That  proved  something  the  North 
could  never  stomach. 

And  this  was  noonday  of  the  September  Sabbath.  The 
whole  right  wing  was  gone.  The  divisions  of  Sheridan, 
Davis,  Wood,  Van  Cleve,  and  Negley,  with  brigades  and 
batteries  intermingled  and,  in  many  cases,  batteries  aban- 
doned and  gone,  were  drifting  away,  disheartened,  to- 
ward the  crest  of  Mission  Ridge.  The  triumphant  host 
of  Longstreet  had  swarmed  all  over  the  abandoned  field, 
jubilantly  rounding  up  prisoners  by  thousands,  sacking 
the  wagon-trains,  and  securing  the  cannon.  By  dozens 
and  hundreds  mounted  officers  and  men  were  spurring 
through  the  crooked  bridle-paths  across  the  range  and 
then,  screened  from  sight  of  the  battle-field,  galloping  on 
into  Chattanooga,  with  added  tale  of  utter  rout  and 
death  and  woe.  All  because  the  right  had  gone  to  smash, 
they  reasoned  that  no  human  power  could  save  the  left. 

Yes,  two  corps,  and  corps  commanders,  had  been  swept 
bodily  out  of  battle.  Gallant  Lytle  and  Heg,  heading 
their  brigades  in  vain  effort,  died  at  their  posts  on  the 
line,  scores  of  their  brave  men  with  them.  Fragments  of 
five  divisions  were  in  retreat  to  the  west.  The  cavalry 
at  the  far  right  was  cut  off  and  compelled  to  ride  for 
shelter  over  to  the  Cove.  But,  one  corps  commander,  one 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  303 

devoted  corps,  and  certain  rallying  fragments  of  other 
commands,  still  grimly  and  magnificently  held  their 
ground  at  the  left.  The  crescent  line  of  the  pallid  dawn 
had  been  bent  to  the  sickle  in  the  early  morning,  the 
arch  of  steel  had  been  hammered  to  the  horseshoe  of  the 
afternoon,  but  that  horseshoe  became  emblem  of  better 
luck  at  last  for  the  sorely  battered  army.  In  the  white 
heat  of  desperate  battle  it  had  been  forged  upon  an  anvil 
of  solid  rock,  steadfast,  immovable,  and  indomitable  as 
the  soldier  soul  of  George  H.  Thomas. 

And  now  came  the  final  turn  in  the  tide.  Such  men  as 
Wood,  Davis,  and  Sheridan,  and  such  men  as  made  up 
their  fighting  divisions,  were  not  like  to  abandon  the 
field  so  long  as  a  rallying-point  remained,  and  somewhere 
within  the  third  hour  that  followed  the  crush  of  the  right 
wing  they  learned  that  the  left  still  stood.  By  that  time 
Sheridan  and  Davis  were  through  McFarland  Gap. 
Davis  turned  about  the  way  he  came  and  marched  his 
weary  men  to  join  Thomas's  right.  Sheridan  swung  out 
for  Rossville  Gap  and,  turning  eastward,  came  sturdily 
back  to  the  valley  toward  Thomas's  left.  Wood,  earlier 
than  either,  learning  the  truth,  headed  cross  lots  for 
Snodgrass  Hill  and  met  the  master  of  the  situation  on  the 
foremost  ridge.  From  that  time  on  no  man  could  say 
jWood  failed  one  whit  in  either  judgment  or  duty.  In 
the  fearful  fighting  of  the  late  afternoon  he  and  his  little 
division  fought  second  to  none,  and  every  man  was 
needed. 

Another  brainy,  brilliant  deed  had  borne  fruit  in  the 
final  result.  Another  fighting  soldier  had  sped  with  his 


304  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

brigade  to  cast  his  lot  with  Thomas.  Afar  off  to  the 
north,  over  three  miles  distant,  Gordon  Granger  had  been 
posted  with  orders  to  defend  the  approaches  to  Rossville 
Gap.  The  thunder  of  battle  told  him  Thomas  was  sore 
beset.  His  scouts  assured  him  the  enemy  was  gradually 
encircling  the  left  wing.  His  soldier  sense  convinced  him 
that  the  Gap  could  take  care  of  itself  a  while  and  that  he 
was  needed  elsewhere.  With  gallant  Steedman  at  his 
back,  the  two  fresh  brigades,  by  hard  marching,  reached 
the  Snodgrass  Hill  soon  after  three  o'clock  and  in  the 
nick  of  time.  Thomas  gripped  his  hand  in  wordless 
gratitude  and  pointed  out  where  to  plant  his  lines,  then 
sent  Steedman,  flag  in  hand,  in  a  magnificent  charge  on 
Longstreet's  advanced  division,  checking  and  over- 
whelming the  move  to  turn  the  right  flank;  then  settled 
down  in  dogged  determination  to  beat  back  every  assault 
and  hold  that  horseshoe  till  the  sun  went  down.  At 
half-past  three,  Garfield,  reaching  him  by  way  of  Ross- 
ville, and  rinding  him  safe,  strong,  and  self-reliant,  poured 
out  his  soul  in  a  triumphant  despatch  to  his  chief,  still 
sitting  heart-sick  back  there  at  Chattanooga,  to  the  end 
that  as  the  sun  went  down  behind  the  huge  barrier  of 
Lookout,  a  courier  came  spurring  in,  all  spume  and  sweat, 
waving  aloft  the  envelope  with  which  he  had  been 
charged  to  ride  like  the  wind  to  Chattanooga,  and  Rose- 
crans,  staggering  to  his  feet,  tore  open  the  missive,  ex- 
pectant of  more  disaster;  read  almost  incredulous;  then 
again  the  paper  was  swung  aloft,  and  with  a  sob  that 
shook  his  frame,  the  brave,  yet  broken,  chief  cried  aloud 
in  his  relief  and  joy:  "God  be  thanked,  the  day  is  not 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  305 

yet  lost!"  God  be  thanked,  indeed!  God  be  praised  for 
the  bulwark  He  had  builded  against  the  well-nigh  resist- 
less torrent  of  disunion,  for  the  indomitable  spirit  that 
through  days  of  stress  and  shock  had  endured  steadfast 
to  the  end,  for  the  massive,  stubborn  strength  that  dwelt 
unconquerable  in  the  loyal  soul  of  George  H.  Thomas — 
Thomas,  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

There  came  a  month  in  which  they  could  talk  of  little 
else,  when  they  could  talk  at  all,  these  battle-worn  vet- 
erans of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland.  There  came  long 
weeks  of  siege  and  semistarvation.  They  were  far  in  the 
Southland,  be  it  remembered,  with  but  a  single  line  of 
railway  for  their  supplies,  and  that  one,  at  its  lower  end, 
swept  by  the  guns  of  the  enemy.  They  lay  within  the 
entrenchments  in  front  of  Chattanooga,  standing  off  the 
snarling  war-dogs  along  the  line  across  the  valley,  and 
gazing  gloomily  at  the  blood-red  battle-flags  that  dotted 
the  crests  of  old  Lookout  to  their  right,  and  all  along 
Mission  Ridge  beyond  their  left.  They  had  had  fearful 
pounding  in  those  two  days  of  battle,  and,  in  many  a 
paper  all  over  the  North,  their  leaders  were  getting  it 
yet.  All  save  one,  the  loyal  soldier  Secretary  Stanton 
still  held  tainted  with  disloyalty,  the  dauntless  and  dutiful 
Virginian  the  North  was  beginning  almost  to  adore. 

There  came  to  them  but  little  comfort  and  few  letters. 
Mail  communications  were  interrupted;  the  wires  across 
the  mountains  were  frequently  down.  The  rumor  went 
about  that,  dispirited,  "Old  Rosy"  had  determined  to 
abandon  Chattanooga  rather  than  see  his  army  starve, 
and  to  fall  back,  fighting,  to  Nashville.  That  rumor 
reached  the  Northland,  bringing  Stanton  himself,  post- 
haste, from  Washington  to  Louisville;  and  Grant,  the 
unquestioned  conqueror  of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  from 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  307 

the  field  of  his  triumph  to  conference  with  the  war  minis- 
ter. The  story  of  that  meeting  Grant  himself  has  told. 
The  results  were  telegraphed  to  the  saddened  Army  of  the 
Cumberland — saddened,  yet  turning  in  thankfulness  of 
spirit  to  the  hope  and  head  so  long  denied  them.  "Old 
Rosy"  stood  relieved  of  his  command ;  Thomas  stood  pro- 
moted in  his  stead,  and  the  first  message  to  silent  Grant 
and  the  still  half-doubting  secretary  read:  "We'll  hold 
the  town  until  we  starve." 

Mournfully  they  had  bidden  adieu  to  McCook  and 
Crittenden.  Two  years  had  they  drilled,  marched,  or 
battled  with  or  under  them,  and  the  ties  of  such  comrade- 
ship are  strong.  There  were  tears  in  many  an  eye  when 
these  old-time  leaders  had  to  turn  over  their  commands 
and  go  their  ways.  Both  had  served  loyally  and  faith- 
fully according  to  their  lights;  both  were  brave,  but  in 
the  three  great  battles  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland, 
Perryville,  Stone's  River,  and  Chickamauga,  luck  or 
something  had  been  dead  against  them.  At  the  two  last 
named  their  corps  had  been  swept  away,  and  at  the  last 
of  all  they  were  swept  farther  than  their  corps.  The 
story  was  told  through  the  dreary  camps  that  "Old  Rosy" 
had  ordered  them  back  to  their  commands  late  that  rueful 
Sunday  afternoon,  but  their  commands  were  widely 
scattered,  and  it  took  another  day  to  find  and  reorganize 
them. 

Very  different  were  the  stories  told  of  Thomas  and 
his  superb  stand  against  tremendous  odds.  They  were 
now  more  numerous  than  the  camp-fires,  and  to  the  full  as 
glowing.  The  new  commander  fairly  shrank  from  mov- 


308  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

ing  among  his  men,  for,  wherever  he  was  seen,  they 
sprang  to  cheer  him,  whereat  he  would  blush  like  a 
schoolgirl  and  show  distress — he  who  looked  like  a  lion 
at  bay  all  that  thunderous  Sunday  afternoon — he  who 
turned  in  stern  rebuke  to  the  division  general,  who,  in 
wrath  and  exasperation,  his  own  corps  commander  and 
his  general-in-chief  having  quit  the  field,  rode  up  with 
the  words:  "General  Thomas,  I  report  to  you  as  the 
only  man  fit  to  lead  this  army.'* 

Who  that  heard  it  could  ever  forget  the  reply : 

"General ,  that's  mutiny !" 

And  then,  on  crutches,  seeing  everything,  saying  noth- 
ing, came  Grant,  the  new  commander  of  the  newly  consti- 
tuted Division  of  the  Mississippi,  with  jurisdiction  over 
pretty  much  everything  west  of  the  Appalachians,  with  a 
businesslike  staff,  and  a  kind  word  to  Rosecrans,  who 
stayed  long  enough  to  give  him  the  benefit  of  suggestions 
that  Grant  himself,  who  had  approved  his  relief,  declared 
were  excellent — so  good  he  marveled  that  Rosecrans  him- 
self had  never  carried  them  out. 

And  then  Grant  looked  long  at  the  new  head  of  the 
Army,  and  Department,  of  the  Cumberland,  whom  he  had 
but  slightly  known  before,  and  whom  he  did  not  half- 
know  even  now. 

Nor  was  Thomas  communicative.  Never  had  his  staff 
seen  him  so  preoccupied,  so  intent.  A  new  chief  of  staff 
had  come  for  duty  with  the  army,  vice  Garfield,  who 
had  broader  functions  looming  in  the  immediate  future, 
and  this  new  adjutant  was  a  man  after  Thomas's  own 
heart,  and  something  like  him  in  mold  and  manner — 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  309 

"Old  Faithful,"  the  soldiers  dubbed  him  before  many 
days.  Between  these  two  there  grew  a  bond  that  others 
watched  with,  soldierly  envy — it  meant  so  much  to  be  in 
close  touch  with  Thomas. 

And  with  this  coming  of  Whipple,  the  successor  of 
Garesche  and  Garfield,  fresh  from  months  of  duty  where 
one  could  hear  what  was  being  said  at  court,  Thomas  at 
last  began  to  learn  something  definite  as  to  the  slights 
and  suspicions  that,  from  the  earliest  days  of  the  Ken- 
tucky campaign,  had  attached  to  him.  And  now  strands 
of  silver  began  to  show  amid  the  yellow  gold  of  his  close- 
cropped  beard,  and  deeper  lines  to  form  about  the  mobile 
lips.  Men  who  long  had  served  with  him,  and  loved  him, 
noted  painfully  the  patient  sadness  in  his  keen  blue  eyes. 
Fulmer  exploded  orally  about  it.  Freeman,  who  had 
been  with  his  great  leader  day  and  night,  and  had  grown 
to  him  like  a  spaniel  to  his  master,  mourned  and  won- 
dered. 

One  day  there  came  a  ray  of  illuminating  light.  Ful- 
mer's  governor  had  made  him  a  captain  for  his  share  in 
the  campaign.  Ruddy  Rolfe,  who  had  led  the  "Children 
of  Israel"  like  a  modern  Moses,  and,  to  their  infinite  sor- 
row, had  been  sent  North  to  recuperate  from  severe 
wounds,  went  preceded  by  urgent  recommendations  for 
his  promotion  to  a  generalship;  and  when  letters  began 
to  pour  in  from  home,  and  proud,  yet  trembling,  mothers 
could  reach  their  boys  with  words  of  love  and  praise, 
there  came  glowing  missives  from  Mrs.  Freeman  arid 
from  Elsie.  Colonel  Rolfe  had  spoken  so  highly  of  Ned 
(Shrewd  move,  that,  Ruddy!),  Colonel  Rolfe  declared 


310  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Ned  deserved  a  majority  and  must  have  at  least  a  cap- 
taincy at  once.  So  Senator  This  had  written  to  Govern- 
or Dick,  and  if  General  Thomas  would  but  add  a  line  or 
two  (which  lines  had  gone  already)  there  remained  no 
manner  of  doubt  that  Ned,  too,  would  get  his  double 
bars.  So,  happily  he  waited,  but  they  came  not.  One 
day,  instead,  there  reached  him  a  long  letter  from  Colonel 
Rolfe  himself,  and  Rolfe  was  furious.  "Somebody  has 
been  maligning  you/'  said  he,  "for  they  write  me  from 
Springfield  the  governor  has  been  stuffed  full  of  stories 
about  your  aiding  spies  to  escape,  being  a  bearer  of  secret 
letters  to  avowed  rebel  sympathizers,  and  to  clinch  it  all 
is  the  story  of  your  engagement  to  marry  a  Louisiana 
girl." 

And  that  was  not  the  only  reminder.  With  General 
Grant  had  come  an  officer  who  was  with  him  during  his 
brief  and  unlucky  visit  to  New  Orleans.  By  that  officer 
had  come  a  little  packet  of  letters  from  that  Louisiana 
girl;  and  Freeman,  in  bitterness  of  spirit,  went  to  his 
grave-faced  general  one  November  day,  and  showed  him 
Rolfe's  stinging  pages  and  begged  for  ten  days'  leave  to 
go  to  Springfield  and  tell  the  governor  and  his  advisers 
the  actual  facts.  "These  accusations  are  weighing  me 
down,  general,"  said  he.  "It  is  a  bitter  thing  to  be  doing 
one's  whole  duty  here  and  being  so  maligned  at  home." 

Then  Thomas,  who  had  bent  his  head  in  thought, 
looked  up  from  Rolfe's  letter,  the  silver-blue  eyes  clouded 
with  a  pain  that  seemed  now  almost  permanent,  and  then 
at  last  he  spoke  and  Freeman  knew : 

"None  can  feel  deeper  sympathy  for  you,  my  boy.    You 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  311 

do  not  begin  to  know  how  hard  I've  been  trying  to  teach 
myself  not  to  feel  at  all." 

So  Thomas  knew  of  his  detractors  and  maligners. 
Even  such  loyalty  as  his,  then,  could  be  aspersed. 

But  there  was  no  going  away  on  leave  for  Ned  Free- 
man or  for  anybody.  Grant  still  was  there  with  "some- 
thing up  his  sleeve,"  said  camp-fire  prophets,  and  Sher- 
man was  coming  with  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee  in  his 
train,  and  big  events  were  foreshadowed.  The  war 
department  had  at  last  confirmed  the  opinion  of  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland,  and  had  given  that  army  to  the 
commander  to  whom  it  so  long  had  pinned  its  faith,  but 
it  would  not  give  its  commander  independent  command. 
It  must  have  Grant  to  supervise  and  Sherman  to  sup- 
port; so  in  silence  and  subordination,  as  ever  before, 
Thomas  busied  himself  about  his  duties. 

There  was  an  atmosphere  of  chill  about  the  new  head- 
quarters of  the  big  new  military  division.  Grant  had 
shed  his  crutches,  but  could  not  so  easily  drop  his  con- 
victions. It  was  late  in  October  when  he  reached  Chick- 
amauga. For  nearly  a  month  the  Army  of  the  Cumber- 
land had  been  on  starvation  allowance.  Sixty  miles  of 
mountain  road  had  their  wagons  to  haul  from  the  rail- 
way. Beef  "dried  on  the  hoof"  was  the  only  kind  to 
reach  them.  Officers  and  men  were  ragged,  pale,  worn 
to  skin  and  bone.  Contrasting  their  appearance  with  that 
of  the  well-fed  divisions  he  had  left  along  the  Mississippi, 
Grant  drew  an  inference  he  was  soon  to  regret.  He 
thought  the  army  more  than  half-cowed  as  well  as  half- 
starved,  and  from  his  headquarters  there  sifted,  some- 


312  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

how,  the  story  that  he  believed  the  army  couldn't  fight. 
It  sounds  incredible  of  Grant,  as  we  know  him  now, 
but  it  was  credited  then,  and  it  stirred  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland  to  the  marrow.  From  commander  down 
to  camp-follower,  it  kept  much  to  itself  and  busy  in  the 
work  of  building  up  again.  The  "Cracker  line"  was  now 
providing  food  and  clothing.  A  fortnight  on  full  rations 
was  all  they  needed,  and  when  it  came  to  fighting  again, 
perhaps  their  general-in-chief  would  have  occasion  to 
mend  his  views.  It  wouldn't  be  their  fault,  said  camp-fire 
chat,  if  he  didn't. 

But  meanwhile  Ned  Freeman  was  chafing  at  his  bonds 
— fretful,  irritable,  and  unhappy.  He  knew  well  that 
enemies  had  been  at  work  with  his  name,  and  he  believed 
he  knew  which  enemies  had  been  most  active.  He  knew 
well  that  there  was  good  ground  for  the  story  of  his 
engagement  to  Kate  Claiborne,  although  there  was  noth- 
ing to  warrant  that  of  disloyalty  to  his  country.  What 
troubled  him  most,  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night 
when  he  lay  wakeful  by  the  shore  of  the  murmuring  river, 
was  the  consciousness  of  disloyalty  to  her — to  the  Louis- 
iana girl  whom  he  had  last  seen,  orphaned,  desolate,  yet 
brave  and  beautiful  even  in  her  desolation,  when  with  the 
mortal  remains  of  her  father  she  was  borne  away  to  the 
home  of  her  girlhood.  Well  he  realized  that  she  went 
with  his  assurance  that  he  loved  her.  There  had  been 
hours  when  he  believed  it  himself. 

From  Frances  Morgan  not  one  word  or  line  had  come 
to  him.  From  all  he  heard  she  had  been  a  social  success 
In  Louisville,  a  belle  wherever  she  moved,  and,  having 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  313 

quarreled  with  him — being  bound  to  him  by  no  promise 
of  any  kind — what  on  earth  was  there  to  bind  him  to  her  ? 
Whether  she  cared  for  Jack  Barbour  or  not,  or  was 
coquetting  with  captains  by  the  dozen  in  blue  or  gray  as 
they  chanced  to  come,  Freeman  had  not  a  vestige  of  rea- 
son to  think  she  had  ever  begun  to  care  for  him.  Why 
should  he,  therefore,  continue  in  humble  suppliance — a 
mere  toy  of  her  vanity? 

On  the  other  hand,  why  should  he  not  do  his  best  to 
stifle  the  love  he  felt  for  her,  strong  though  it  was  ?  Why 
should  he  not  learn  to  love  this  other,  this  gentle  and  de- 
voted girl  who  had  shown  such  wealth  of  tenderness,  who 
had  nursed  him  through  his  sufferings,  who  had  shielded 
him  from  his  foes,  who  had  been  such  a  model  of  filial 
love  and  piety,  and  who,  his  reason  told  him,  looked  upon 
him,  twice  perhaps  the  savior  of  her  father's  life,  with  a 
tenderness  that  might  readily  ripen  into  love?  Indeed, 
had  she  not,  in  her  desolation — the  day  of  her  father's 
death,  and  probably,  too,  as  a  result  of  his  marked  devo- 
tion in  word  and  manner  during  that  father's  last  days — 
leaned  upon  him  in  the  abandon  of  her  grief,  supported 
by  his  encircling  arm,  and  sobbed  her  heart  out  on  his 
breast.  What  words  had  he  not  whispered?  What 
thoughts,  indeed,  had  he  not  inspired?  Formal  engage- 
ment there  was  none,  yet  Katherine  Claiborne  had  right 
to  believe  in  his  love  and  to  expect  of  him  a  lover's  plea 
for  hers  in  return.  There  had  been  no  moment  alone 
with  her  after  the  day  of  Captain  Claiborne's  death,  but 
there  had  been  one  uplifting  of  her  deep,  beautiful  eyes 
to  his,  as  they  clasped  hands  in  parting,  and  a  took  that 


314  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

haunted  him  to  this  moment.  There  had  been  no  love- 
letters  from  him  to  her,  because  letters  of  any  kind  might 
be  read  by  other  eyes  than  hers — at  least,  he  so  persuaded 
himself ;  but  he  had  written  twice,  and  now  here  were  her 
answers — three — by  the  hand  of  that  dapper  little  major 
on  the  general's  staff,  and  they  were  penned  in  the  lan- 
guage he  and  she  had  grown  to  use  in  their  sorrowful, 
yet  tender  meetings  at  the  last — "the  first  tongue — her 
mother's — she  had  ever  heard."  And  now  while  Frances 
Morgan  was  probably  flirting  with  "casuals"  in  Kentucky, 
Kate  Claiborne  was  once  again  wandering  under  the  live- 
oaks  near  what  was  left  of  her  mother's  old  home  and 
people,  thanking  him  again  and  again  for  all  his  kindness, 
and  blessing  him  for  all  he  had  done  and  suffered  for  her 
father,  and  praying  for  the  cessation  of  the  cruel  war,  and 
for  his  long  life  and  happiness. 

But  happiness  and  he  were  things  far  apart. 

"Freeman,"  said  his  general,  one  morning  in  mid- 
November,  "I  wish  you  would  ride  in  and  give  this  in 
person  to  General  Grant,"  and  "this"  proved  to  be  an 
oblong  packet  in  oiled  silk  found  on  the  person  of  a  Con- 
federate officer,  captured  at  dawn  by  the  pickets  up  the 
Tennessee. 

Freeman  rode  as  directed;  dismounted,  and  spent  a 
moment  or  two  waiting  reply.  The  general  would  see 
him  presently,  said  an  aide,  and  presently  he  was  ushered 
through  a  broad  hallway,  where  stood  and  sat  officers, 
orderlies,  and  civilians,  most  of  them  strangers.  The  aide 
threw  open  a  door,  said  briefly,  "Staff-officer  from  Gen- 
eral Thomas,  sir,"  and  vanished.  Only  two  persons  did 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  315 

Freeman  see,  as  with  cap  in  one  hand  and  packet  in  the 
other,  he  entered  the  little  room.  The  sunshine,  pouring 
through  the  uncurtained  windows  at  the  east,  dazzled  his 
eyes  an  instant.  The  bearded  officer,  in  a  simple  sack 
coat,  seated  in  rather  stoop-shouldered  attitude  at  a  table 
covered  with  maps  and  papers,  held  forth  his  left  hand 
for  the  packet,  which  a  single  glance  had  told  him  was 
the  purpose  of  Freeman's  coming,  while  with  the  right 
he  jotted  pencil  notes  of  what  his  earlier  visitor  was  say- 
ing. As  this  latter  stopped  abruptly  on  Freeman's  en- 
trance, the  general  prompted,  in  the  first  words  Freeman 

had  ever  heard  him  speak,  "Sherman  says ?" 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence.  Then,  with  a  certain 
significance  in  its  very  drawl  or  deliberation,  and  Free- 
man started  at  sound  of  the  voice  and  sight  of  the 
speaker,  the  answer  came :  "Possibly,  it  might  be  well  to 
wait  a  moment.  This  package  may  be  of  immediate  im- 
portance," and  with  his  extended  fingers,  tip-touching 
and  pointing*  downward,  with  a  roll  of  his  great  eyes  at 
the  packet  in  Freeman's  hand,  but  with  no  sign  of  recog- 
nition in  his  sallow,  smooth-shaven  face,  Colonel  Cutler 
again  stood  ominously  before  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Chickamauga  being  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  the  isolated 
Army  of  the  Cumberland  reduced  some  fourteen  thou- 
sand men,  killed,  wounded,  and  missing,  Washington 
woke  up,  as  has  been  said,  and,  while  Richmond  was 
detaching  Longstreet,  sending  him  up  the  Tennessee  to 
try  out  Burnside  at  Knoxville,  Hooker  arrived,  by  round- 
about route,  with  the  remnants  of  the  Eleventh  and 
Twelfth  Corps  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  and  the 
head  of  Sherman's  long  column  was  signaled  far  down- 
stream, and  now  it  behooved  Bragg  to  look  out  for  him- 
self. He  had  a  division  on  Lookout  Mountain ;  his  lines 
encircled  the  Union  works  across  the  Chattanooga  Val- 
ley; his  own  headquarters  and  strongest  posts  were  on 
Mission  Ridge,  overlooking  the  town  and  garrison  from 
the  east.  But  he  could  not  see  the  camp  of  Hooker's  men 
beyond  the  Raccoon  Heights;  he  could  not  locate  Sher- 
man after  his  divisions  had  crossed  the  Tennessee.  Grant 
hid  them  behind  the  ridges  to  the  north  of  Chattanooga ; 
dragged  the  heavy  pontoons  by  long  and  winding  way, 
and  launched  them  in  a  sheltered  stream  miles  above  the 
town;  floated  them  down  under  cover  of  night;  flung 
them  across  in  face  of  the  pickets;  and,  on  the  23d 
of  November,  his  plans  were  complete.  Hooker, 
from  Wauhatchie  Valley,  was  to  assault  Lookout  and 
drive  its  little  guarding  division  from  its  lofty  perch. 
Thomas,  with  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  was  to  make 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  317 

a  demonstration,  so  to  speak;  but  Sherman,  with  the 
Army  of  the  Tennessee,  was  to  be  the  chief  actor  of  the 
martial  drama.  With  his  warriors  of  the  West  flushed 
with  their  triumphs  about  Vicksburg,  hard,  vigorous,  and 
sinewy  with  long  weeks  of  marching,  Sherman  was  to 
seize  the  north  end  of  Missouri  Ridge,  and  then,  in 
furious  attack  in  full  force,  sweep  southward  down  that 
beautiful  line  of  heights,  and  while  the  Army  of  the  Cum- 
berland was  supposed  to  stand  gazing  enviously,  ad- 
miringly, upward — taking  their  needed  lesson  in  the  art  of 
war  from  these  their  more  fortunate  brethren — Sherman 
was  to  send  Bragg's  gray  legions  whirling  before  him 
from  one  point  to  another  until,  from  Tunnel  Hill  to 
Rossville,  the  historic  ridge  should  be  swept  clean  of  the 
insolent  foe.  Bragg,  Breckinridge,  and  Hardee  would  'be 
driven,  dismayed,  into  the  flats  of  the  Chickamauga,  and 
Thomas  and  his  devoted  army-corps  should  be  shown 
how  things  can  be  done  by  expert  hands,  with  the  right 
sort  of  metal  to  back  them. 

And  then  we  all  know  how  beautifully  it  worked — 
how  well  Hooker  and  his  Potomac  divisions  played  their 
part  with  simply  stupendous  scenic  effect — how  the  blue 
lines  clambered  the  heights,  were  lost  amid  the  clouds, 
and  emerged,  fire  flashing  above  them.  The  stiff  climb 
was  the  hardest  part  of  it,  for  Hooker  had  men  enough  to 
swallow  alive  the  few  hundred  Confederates  on  the  crest, 
who  had  to  squeeze  out  to  avoid  being  surrounded.  We 
all  know  how,  with  Hooker  in  force  on  Lookout,  and  en- 
filading their  lines  across  Chattanooga  Creek,  and  with 
the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  drawn  up  in  solid  ranks  in 


318  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

their  front,  there  was  nothing  for  the  left  of  Bragg's  line 
to  do  but  swing  back  for  Mission  Ridge.  There  they 
were  on  the  glorious  morning  of  the  25th,  with 
Hooker's  advance  striding  out  for  Rossville,  and  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland,  in  four  fine  divisions — our  old 
friends  Johnson,  Sheridan,  Wood,  and  Baird  from  right 
to  left  respectively — drawn  up  in  the  valley  in  front  of 
that  long  curtain  of  heights,  silent,  subordinate,  like  their 
great  leader ;  facing  the  stage  now  and  waiting,  like  well- 
behaved  audience,  to  see  the  grand  act  of  the  drama ;  to 
meekly  take  their  object-lesson  and  then — the  back  seats 
which  the  powers  had  decreed  should  be  their  place  in 
history.  They  paraded  in  such  beautiful  order,  said 
Bragg  and  his  generals  afterward,  their  ranks  so  solidly 
closed,  so  accurately  aligned,  that  the  soldier  eyes  of  these 
appreciative  onlookers  were  rejoiced,  and  Bragg  was 
moved  to  say  of  his  old-time  first  lieutenant  whom  he 
ever  held  in  affectionate  regard  and  solid  respect,  even 
when  he  had  to  fight  him,  "Old  Tom  was  always  preci- 
sion itself." 

Yes,  there  on  Orchard  Knob,  that  but  yesterday  had 
been  the  key-point  of  the  Confederate  works  in  the  valley 
— there  with  the  grand  panorama  in  full  view  before 
them,  were  grouped  the  senior  generals  and  their  staffs 
— Grant,  the  commander  of  all ;  Thomas,  the  head  of  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland;  and  Gordon  Granger,  now 
commander  of  the  Fourth  Corps.  The  old  Twentieth  and 
Twenty-first,  McCook's  and  Crittenden's,  had  been 
broken  up  and  merged.  The  old  and  indomitable  Four- 


The    Rock  of  Chickamauga.  319 

teenth,  Thomas's  own,  was  now  headed  by  our  old  friend, 
the  war  Democrat,  Palmer,  of  Illinois. 

But  things  had  not  turned  out  exactly  as  planned.  To 
begin  with,  Sherman  found  himself  with  only  three  of 
his  seasoned  divisions  when  he  started  in  to  surprise  the 
Confederate  weasels  at  the  north  end  of  the  ridge.  Os- 
terhaus  had  been  cut  off  by  the  breaking  of  the  bridge 
below  Chattanooga,  and  so  was  serving  with  Hooker  at 
Lookout.  So  Sherman  called  for  something  to  replace 
him,  and  it  was  Davis,  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  who 
was  sent  in  his  stead.  It  was  Davis's  division  that  covered 
the  crossing  for  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee.  So  much 
for  the  left. 

Then  away  to  the  right,  too,  the  Army  of  the  Cumber- 
land had  unexpectedly  broken  into  the  game.  In  spite 
of  the  intimated  opinion  that  it  could  not  be  got  to  come 
out  of  its  entrenchments  to  fight,  the  army  was  showing 
unlooked-for  propensity  to  "mix  in."  Hooker  had  got  up 
close  to  the  palisade  cliffs  of  old  Lookout  on  the  late 
afternoon  of  the  24th,  but  the  Confederate  flag  still 
waved  at  the  crest  as  the  sun  went  down.  Now  at 
early  morning  of  the  25th  there  rose  a  shout  of 
delight  in  the  eastward  valley,  for,  as  the  mist  cleared 
away  and  the  signal-glasses  were  brought  to  bear  on  the 
magnificent  heights,  little  dots  of  skirmishers  in  blue 
could  be  made  out  scrambling  up  and  up,  and  presently 
there  burst  upon  the  view,  waving  gloriously,  trium- 
phantly, a  regimental  color,  the  silken  stars  and  stripes, 
and  from  Tunnel  Hill,  far  around  along  the  winding 
Tennessee,  along  twenty  miles  of  meandering,  the  rocks 


320  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

and  cliffs  resounded  with  exultant  cheers  that  rang  for 
hours,  cheers  that  burst  out  afresh  with  almost  mad  re- 
joicing when  the  word  went  laughing  along  the  line  that, 
after  all,  the  Eighth  Kentucky  were  first  at  the  top — that, 
after  all,  the  summit  was  crowned  by  the  Second  Brigade, 
First  Division,  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland. 

And  that  wasn't  all.  By  no  manner  of  means  was  it 
all !  Safely  screened  by  the  boulders  and  cedars  from 
sight  of  the  commander-in-chief,  while  their  own  general 
sat  calm  and  controlled  in  saddle,  a  graceless  few  of  the 
youngsters  of  his  staff,  Freeman  and  Fulmer  among 
them,  were  capering  madly  and  dancing  with  glee,  for 
another  call  had  come  to  the  Cumberland.  Grant,  sitting 
grimly  at  the  eastward  edge  of  the  knoll,  waiting  vainly 
for  the  colors  of  Sherman  to  show  on  the  ridge,  and  list- 
ening to  the  crash  of  guns  at  the  far  eastward  flank, 
decided  that  Bragg  must  be  heavily  reen forcing  fighting 
Pat  Cleburne,  who  alone  had  checked  Sherman  the  even- 
ing before.  Something  surely  must  be  wrong  when  the 
Army  of  the  Tennessee  couldn't  "sweep,"  and  sweep  it 
surely  had  not.  For  all  of  its  shooting,  not  a  rod  had  it 
gained,  and  the  play  was  stalled  in  consequence. „  "Send 
another  division,"  came  the  order  to  Thomas,  and  from 
Thomas  went  Freeman  full  gallop  to  Baird,  and  that 
courtly  division  commander,  with  his  invariable  "Very 
well,  sir,"  sent  a  thrill  through  his  brigades  with  the 
order  to  face  to  the  left.  They  were  off  to  help  Sherman 
and  were  gone  all  of  five  hours,  while  still  the  occupants 
of  Orchard  Knob  sat  watching  and  waiting.  Then  they 
were  seen  marching  very  handsomely  back  to  their  post 


The  Roek  of  Chickamauga.  321 

on  the  left  of  the  paraded  lines.  "What's  the  matter?" 
asked  the  general-in-chief.  "General  Sherman's  compli- 
ments and  he  needs  no  assistance,"  was  the  answer. 

"Then  why  the — what  the — how  did  it  happen  he ?" 

All  manner  of  questions  the  aides-de-camp  ask,  but  the 
chief  sits  in  silent  gloom.  It  is  long  after  noon ;  it  is  al- 
most three,  and  Hooker  is  down  from  Lookout  and  stri- 
ding across  to  attack  the  far  southern  left  at  Rossville. 
Thomas  and  his  four  divisions  have  been  waiting  since 
sunup  for  the  promised  show;  Sherman  hasn't  so  much 
as  swept  half  a  mile,  and  yet  scorns  to  have  aid. 

Then  at  last  was  it  that  Grant  turned  to  Thomas.  It 
was  his  men  of  the  Cumberland  who  had  whipped  the 
enemy  out  of  the  very  earthworks  on  whose  reversed 
ramparts  the  generals  have  been  watching  proceedings 
all  the  livelong  day.  It  is  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland 
that,  far  better  than  these  stanch  but  strange  allies  from 
the  Potomac  and  Mississippi,  have  cause  to  know  the  ins 
and  outs  of  Mission  Ridge.  But  it  has  pleased  the 
powers  to  send  others  to  do  the  work,  and,  after  some- 
thing of  two  days  of  trial,  Sherman,  at  least,  is  about 
where  he  started,  and  his  men  are  well-nigh  spent. 

But  here,  fresh  and  vigorous,  are  three  fine  divisions, 
with  Baird's  men  trudging  fast  to  rejoin  them.  Possibly 
sending  this  two-mile-long  line  of  Cumberlands  full 
front  toward  the  ridge,  looming  less  than  a  mile  from  the 
center,  may  induce  Bragg  to  believe  them  in  earnest;  so 
much  so  that  he  will  call  in  his  war-dogs  away  off  to  the 
right,  and  so  before  sundown  make  way  for  Sherman  and 
the  Tennessee. 


322  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Up  to  now  it  had  been  planned  that,  after  Sherman 
had  made  his  sweep,  the  lines  of  Thomas  were  to  join 
him  in  pursuit;  but  Sherman  has  not  brushed  the  foe 
from  the  front  of  the  Cumberland.  Now,  can  the  Cum- 
berland brush  them  from  the  front  of  the  Tennessee? 
Yonder,  aligned  on  the  ridge,  confronting  Thomas,  are 
eleven  brigades  with  sixteen  batteries.  Yonder  in  the 
plain,  confronting  the  ridge,  are  eleven  brigades  and  four 
light  batteries.  Numerically  they  are  well  matched,  save 
for  the  South's  preponderance  in  guns,  but  with  the 
South  lies  all  the  advantage  of  position. 

To  this  day  Grant's  biographers  have  it  that  when  he 
turned  to  Thomas  it  was  to  order  attack  only  on  the 
lines  at  the  base  of  the  ridge.  To  this  day  it  is  held  he 
had  no  higher  intention,  but  never  was  order  to  advance 
received  with  such  fierce,  uncontrollable  joy.  In  splendid 
rank  and  alignment,  the  four  divisions  sprang  to  their 
work,  and  Orchard  Knob  swarmed  with  spectators  eager 
to  note  the  result.  For  a  few  minutes,  almost  in  dead 
silence,  the  long  lines  in  blue-gray  overcoats  swept  stead- 
ily over  the  level  plain ;  then,  as  they  came  within  range, 
all  along  the  ridge  the  guns  of  the  South  opened  on  them 
in  thunder,  and  shot  and  shell  came  screaming  down. 
Then  the  pace  quickened.  Then  the  gray  skirmish-lines, 
well  out  to  the  front,  began  to  spit  fire,  and  then  to  scat- 
ter for  cover.  Then  "quick"  changed  to  double  quick,  for 
up  rose  the  ranks  of  gray  infantry  in  the  works  at  the 
foot  of  the  slope,  and  the  parapets  blazed  with  the  swift 
"fire  at  will."  Then  the  double  became  the  dash,  with  a 
pent-up,  resonant,  deep-throated  burst  of  cheers,  and 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  323 

then  the  bluecoats,  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  could  be 
seen  scrambling  over  the  low  breastworks  and  diving  into 
the  depths  beyond.  In  some  places  they  were  at  the  very 
heels  of  the  skirmishers.  But  that  wasn't  all.  Away  up 
the  heights,  by  squads  and  scores  and  battalions,  the 
defenders  were  drifting.  The  guns  at  the  crest  could  not 
be  depressed  so  as  to  sweep  the  slope.  The  supports  dare 
not  fire  for  fear  of  shooting  their  own.  It  was  a  chance 
not  to  be  lost,  and  Baird  at  the  left,  where  the  heights 
were  steep,  and  Johnson  at  the  right,  where  the  check 
had  been  slightest,  were  already  clambering  and  smiting 
at  the  heels  of  the  pursued.  For  a  brief  moment  or  two 
there  was  effort  at  the  center,  on  the  part  of  Wood  and 
Sheridan,  to  literally  obey  the  original  order,  to  halt  and 
control  the  men,  but  effort  proved  vain.  Balked  and  de- 
frauded too  often  in  the  past,  the  army  had  taken  the  bit 
in  its  teeth,  the  Cumberland  was  charging  up  hill,  and, 
finding  it  hopeless  to  stop  them,  wise  men  that  they  were, 
the  leaders  rejoicefully  followed  their  lines.  The  men 
had  the  instinct  of  battle,  and  orders  or  no  orders,  were 
bent  on  fighting  it  out. 

Astonished  at  a  demonstration  so  utterly  unlocked  for, 
the  general-in-chief  turned  sharply  on  Thomas.  "By 
whose  orders  are  those  troops  going  up  the  hill?"  was 
the  angry  question. 

"By  their  own,  most  likely,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  for 
nothing  could  be  going  better.  "It  is  all  right  if  it  turns 
out  all  right,"  said  Grant,  but  added,  with  ominous  shake 
of  the  head:  "If  not,  some  one  will  suffer."  And  who 
that  "some  one"  would  be  one  could  readily  guess. 


324  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

But  when,  as  the  westering  sun,  taking-  its  last  peep 
over  Lookout  for  the  day,  threw  its  almost  level  beams 
athwart  the  long  barrier  of  Mission  Ridge,  it  shone 
along  the  entire  length  on  the  firmly  planted  banners  of 
the  Union,  on  cheering  and  exultant  brigades  in  blue,  on 
hundreds  of  captured  men  and  whole  batteries  of  captured 
cannon.  Bragg  in  the  darkness  drifted  away  with  his 
beaten  army,  and  once  again  the  men  of  Major  Slow 
Trot  against  all  comers  won  the  honors  of  the  day. 

"Well,  Colonel  Cutler,"  shouted  a  young  brigade  com- 
mander, with  a  bandaged  head,  and  an  arm  in  a  sling, 
and  a  longing  for  further  fight,  "what  have  you  got  to  say 
of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  now?" 

And  reflectively,  deliberately,  judicially,  Colonel  Cutler 
responded :  "I  always  did  say  the  army  was  all  right." 

"Well,  Ned  Freeman,"  said  Captain  Fulmer,  as  the 
junior  aide-de-camp  stiffly  dismounted  from  a  chase  after 
Sheridan's  division,  "this  time,  anyhow,  you  didn't  get 
hit,  and  the  'Old  Man'  wants  to  see  you,  quick  as 
you're  in." 

Without  answer,  for  he  was  strangely  weak  and  weary, 
Freeman  entered  the  circle  of  officers  gathered  about  a 
rousing  camp-fire  at  general  headquarters,  now  moved 
forward  from  Orchard  Knob  far  up  on  the  eastward  slope 
of  the  ridge.  Grant  was  there,  stoop-shouldered,  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  listening  in  silence  to  eager  words 
of  Sherman.  Hooker  had  ridden  over,  debonair  despite 
two  days  of  battle  and  saddle.  A  score  of  staff-officers 
were  jotting  down  the  verbal  reports  from  scattered  divi- 
sions. Thomas,  the  serene  center  of  a  little  group  of  his 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  325 

own,  whose  members  were  doing  not  a  little  quiet  hand- 
shaking, was  dictating  instructions  to  Whipple  and  Wil- 
lard,  and  at  Freeman's  "You  wish  to  see  me,  sir?" 
turned  slowly,  his  kind  eyes  filling  with  concern  as  they 
encountered  those  of  his  young  aide. 

"You  look  worn  out,  Freeman.  There's  nothing  amiss, 
I  hope.  Colonel  Cutler  here  has  something  he  says  the 
general  wishes  you  to  explain." 

The  general — General  Grant  wished  him— junior  aide 
of  General  Thomas — to  explain.  Was  Freeman  dream- 
ing or  dizzy,  or  only  faint  and  hungry  ?  Things  seemed 
so — swimmy — about  him.  No  dream,  however.  Here 
was  Cutler,  his  sallow  face  impassive  as  ever ;  his  big  eyes 
rolling  as  ever;  a  curious  parcel,  a  flat  case,  that,  when 
opened,  revealed  two  old-fashioned,  coverless  daguerreo- 
types, lay  in  one  long,  bony  hand.  In  the  other  was  ex- 
tended a  not  uncommon  traveling  flask  that  needed  not 
the  inscription  of  his  name  upon  the  cup  to  enable  Free- 
man to  recognize  his  private  property.  He  had  not  seen 
it  since  the  night  of  Chickamauga.  He  could  only 
mistily  see  it  now,  and  it  was  doing  strange,  swinging, 
circling  as  Cutler  slowly,  incisively  spoke: 

"With  certain  papers  these  items  were  taken  from  a 
dying  Confederate  officer  this  afternoon.  He  couldn't 
explain.  The  general  thinks  it  possible  Mr.  Freeman 
may." 

But  Mr.  Freeman  might  not.  He  stood  swaying  a  sec- 
ond or  two,  then  went  staggering  backward  into  the  arms 
of  a  staff-officer.  He  had  swooned  away. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

In  all  the  tumult  of  rejoicing  and  triumph  that  fol- 
lowed upon  the  brilliant  victories  of  Lookout  and 
Mission  Ridge,  the  dramatic  episode  at  general  head- 
quarters the  night  of  the  latter,  attracted  but  little  atten- 
tion; so  little  that  its  most  immediate  sequel  was  hardly 
noted  except  by  officers  of  Thomas's  staff,  for  it  was  in 
their  midst  that  it  had  occurred,  and  even  to  them  there 
came  right  speedily  matters  of  far  weightier  import  to 
settle. 

They  had  quickly  raised  their  stricken  comrade,  car- 
ried him  a  little  distance  away  from  the  throng,  and  laid 
him  underneath  the  tree  where  he  and  Fulmer,  only 
three  hours  earlier,  had  danced  exultantly  at  sight  of 
Sheridan's  division  sweeping  on  toward  the  Chicka- 
mauga,  in  hot  pursuit  of  Bragg.  There  would  be  no 
more  exultant  dancing  for  Freeman  for  many  a  day. 
There  was  something  near  to  a  fracas  when  Cutler,  close 
following  the  silent,  swift-footed  bearers,  bent  over  the 
bowed  shoulders  of  Thomas  himself — Thomas,  who,  with 
anxiety  in  his  eyes,  had  dropped  on  one  knee  by  the  side 
of  the  staff  surgeon,  whose  deft  fingers  were  in  rapid 
play;  and  Fulmer,  his  hands  covered  with  blood,  was 
drawing  off  the  high  riding-boot  from  which  poured  a 
red  torrent.  At  sound  of  Cutler's  drawl,  and  sight  of  his 
sallow,  inscrutable  face — how  utterly  out  of  place  it 
looked  in  the  gleam  of  the  lantern,  peering  over  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  327 

shoulder  of  their  honored  general — one  or  two  men 
glanced  suddenly  and  resentfully  up,  and  Thomas  slowly 
arose  and  faced  him. 

"A  rather  significantly — sudden — drop,  I  should  say," 
was  Cutler's  comment,  and  there  was  wrath  in  the  doc- 
tor's equally  significant  answer: 

"Most  men,  Colonel  Cutler,  would  have  dropped  much 
sooner."  Then,  with  caustic  emphasis :  "He  must  have 
been  buoyed  up  with  the  hope  of  seeing  you." 

"He  will  see  me  just  as  soon  as  he  can  sit  up  and 
speak,"  said  Cutler.  Then  for  the  first  time  he  realized 
that  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  commander  of  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland. 

"Not  if  I  know  it,  Colonel  Cutler,"  sharply  answered 
the  surgeon. 

"Not  unless  General  Grant  orders  it,  Colonel  Cutler," 
sternly  said  General  Thomas.  And  in  dead  silence  the 
intruder  turned  and  walked  away.  The  sight  of  the  sur- 
geon's swift-flashing  scissors,  as  they  clipped  the  blood- 
stained breeches  at  the  knee — the  sight  of  the  aversion 
in  the  bearded  faces  of  that  stern  little  circle  had  brought 
sudden  realization  of  his  blunder.  "It's  as  Wharton 
said,"  muttered  the  doctor,  a  moment  later.  "The  Stone 
River  wound  has  reopened  and  he's  bled  enough  to  fell 
a  giant." 

But  men  told  of  still  further  reactionary  matter  in- 
volving Cutler,  and  occurring  that  very  night.  Thomas's 
blood  was  up,  and  his  long-suppressed  sense  of  outrage 
and  indignity  at  the  hands  of  his  insidious  enemies 
seemed  destined  to  assert  itself  at  last.  Men  who  note,d 


328  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

saw  Cutler  return  to  the  presence  of  the  general-in-chief, 
still  patiently  listening  to  vehement  harangue  from  Sher- 
man, while  other  generals,  awaiting  a  hearing,  stood 
more  or  less  patiently  by.  Men  noted  that  presently 
Thomas  came  striding  in  to  the  firelight,  his  eyes  ablaze, 
and  that  Sherman  checked  the  swift  flow  of  his  words, 
and,  perhaps  not  too  rejoicefully,  held  forth  a  harid  in 
congratulation;  that  Grant  turned  to  listen  to  his  great 
subordinate  to  whom  he  had  said  "Some  one  will 
suffer"  somewhere  about  five  hours  earlier.  Some 
one  had  suffered  as  the  result  of  that  superb  dash  of 
Thomas's  men  at  the  fire-flashing  line  of  heights — some 
one  who  now,  with  his  beaten  gray  legions,  was  marching 
away  in  the  moonlight  for  Dalton,  leaving  guns,  wagons, 
and  by  hundreds  his  dead  and  wounded  behind  him — 
some  one  who,  in  bygone  days,  had  loved  his  conqueror 
of  this  November  afternoon  as  in  his  grim  heart  he  had 
loved  no  other  man — some  one  who  loved  still  to  speak 
of  him  as  "Old  Tom,"  his  first  lieutenant  of  "Bragg's 
Battery  of  Buena  Vista."  Yes,  even  the  right  bower, 
Sherman,  it  was  noted,  gave  place  a  moment  to  the  man 
who  in  silence  had  seen  his  men  assigned  to  the  roll  of 
supernumeraries  in  the  battle-plot  of  the  day,  and  in  un- 
spoken triumph  had  seen  them,  the  understudies,  leap 
suddenly  to  the  center  of  the  stage  to  save  the  scene  in 
carrying  all  before  them.  Men  noted  how  nervously  Cut- 
ler watched  and  listened,  and  then.,  at  a  gesture,  with 
unheard-of  alacrity  for  him,  stepped  quickly  forward 
and  joined  the  little  group.  One  man,  an  aide-de-camp 
of  the  general-in-chief,  summoned  suddenly  to  join  him, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  329 

received  Grant's  quiet  order  to  go,  with  one  of  General 
Thomas's  staff,  to  learn  the  identity  of  the  dying  Con- 
federate officer  to  whom  Cutler  had  made  allusion,  and 
by  him,  long  afterward,  it  was  admitted  that  Colonel 
Cutler  had  said  to  General  Grant:  "You  remember,  I 
showed  you  these  things  a  little  before  three  o'clock,  and 
received  your  instructions  to  investigate,"  and  that  Gen- 
eral Grant  turned  and  looked  the  colonel  strangely  in 
the  face,  and  answered:  "Investigate?  Yes.  General 
Thomas  and  I  wish  to  know  what  became  of  the  officer 
and  who  he  was.  Now  I  am  sending  Major  Bowers," 
which  seemed  tantamount  to  saying  he  would  not  trouble 
Colonel  Cutler  further. 

But,  though  cold-shouldered  on  the  spot,  such  was  Cut- 
ler's sense  of  duty,  backed  by  his  unswerving  conviction 
that  there  must  be  something  disloyal  about  Freeman, 
as  well  as  others  whom  he  held  despitefully,  he  felt  it  due 
to  the  government,  as  well  as  to  himself,  to  prove  his 
case,  and  if  Grant  refused  to  credit,  there  were  others, 
even  higher  in  authority,  who  would  welcome  evidence, 
or  covert,  whispered  rumor,  of  disloyalty  and  disaffection 
on  the  part  of  their  subordinates.  Worn  and  weary  as 
were  the  officers  and  orderlies  about  headquarters  that 
wonderful  night,  there  was  not  one  to  think  of  sleep 
while  there  was  still  possibility  of  crushing  Bragg.  The 
sky  was  cloudless.  The  moon  and  the  stars  shone  in 
brilliant  radiance.  Sheridan,  farther  south  toward  the 
Chickamauga,  was  fuming  with  eagerness  to  push  ahead, 
and  at  midnight  was  given  the  word.  Granger,  with 
twenty  thousand  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  was  or- 


3JO  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

dered  to  the  instant  relief  of  Burnside,  sorely  beset  at 
Knoxville.  Sherman  was  directed  to  personally  con- 
duct the  pursuit  at  dawn,  and,  though  there  was  little 
hope  of  rest  for  anybody,  even  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
din  and  excitement  Freeman  and  Freeman's  cause  were 
not  forgotten. 

Strong  arms  and  loyal  hands  had  borne  him  to  shelter 
close  to  Grant's  field  headquarters.  Skilled  surgeons 
looked  to  the  careful  binding  of  his  wound.  Fulmer  hov- 
ered about  him,  ceaseless  in  his  devotion.  Thomas  him- 
self came  to  see  that  all  was  as  well  with  him  as  cir- 
cumstances would  permit.  Gravely  the  general  told  of 
his  brief  interview  with  the  chief,  and  of  his  sorrow  and 
fears.  The  portraits  found  on  the  dying  officer,  he  said, 
were  old  daguerreotypes  of  his  old  friend,  Mrs.  Morgan, 
and  her  daughter.  The  dying  officer,  in  all  likelihood, 
was  their  beloved,  yet  estranged,  boy  Donald.  Major 
Bowers  and  Captain  Wilton  were  searching  now  for 
him.  He  had  fallen  close  to  our  lines  near  Tunnel  Hill, 
and  had  been  dragged  within  them.  Cutler  was  with  his 
former  associates  at  the  time,  and — they  knew  the  rest. 
The  matter  of  the  flask,  which  Cutler  deemed  so  grave 
a  bit  of  evidence,  tending  to  prove  Freeman's  close  con- 
nection with  the  Kentucky  outlaws  the  previous  year, 
Freeman's  comrades  scoffed  at.  Many  of  them  had 
reason  to  remember  Freeman  having  had  it  as  late  as 
the  first  day  of  Chickamauga.  "Let  old  Pop  Eyes  do 
his  damnedest,"  said  Fulmer.  "We'll  knock  his  story 
endwise." 

And  so  they  might  have  done  could  they  have  been 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  331 

far  behind  the  fighting  line,  instead  of  well  away  toward 
Atlanta,  when  at  Washington  the  story  was  told. 

Meanwhile  there  were  other  matters  for  both  staff  and 
line,  graver  matters  for  those  members  of  the  staff  whose 
duties  bring  them  ever  in  closest  touch  with  the  fighting 
force — the  medical  corps.  One  vast  hospital  that  once 
peaceful  valley  had  been  only  eight  weeks  earlier.  Now 
again  field-hospitals  lay  thick  along  the  heights,  and  to 
one  of  these,  over  beyond  Tunnel  Hill,  at  the  northward 
end,  after  hours  of  fruitless  searching,  came  Bowers  and 
Wilton,  with  a  new  and  anxious  volunteer  aide,  in  search 
of  a  Confederate  officer,  reported  to  have  died  or  been 
dying  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  they  heard  of  a  dozen 
before  they  had  ridden  a  mile.  They  asked  for  one  who 
had  been  seen  by  Colonel  Cutler  and  searched — one  who 
might  have  given  the  name  of  Donald  Morgan,  and  they 
could  hear  of  none.  They  had  seen  seven  different  sur- 
geons in  charge.  Bowers  had  given  the  description  he 
had  received  from  Cutler's  lips,  but  every  surgeon  shook 
his  head. 

Then  Wilton  had  bethought  him  of  big  Sam  Wetherby, 
now  major  of  cavalry,  serving  as  division  inspector-gen- 
eral in  the  Fourteenth  Corps,  and  they  stirred  him  from 
his  blankets  and  told  their  story,  and  Wetherby  turned 
regretfully  from  his  snug  bivouac,  and  sadly  led  them 
straightway  to  a  road  winding  down  to  the  flats  where 
Baird's  division  had  halted  early  in  the  morning  when 
sent  to  the  aid  of  Sherman. 

"So  old  Cutler's  mixed  in  this,"  said  he.  "That  ac- 
counts for  what  I  heard  before  the  charge."  More  he 


332  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

would  not  say  until,  as  he  expressed  it,  he  could  prove 
it;  and  prove  it  he  did  at  the  next  "first  aid"  bivouac 
they  reached,  a  hospital-camp  where  lanterns  flitted  still 
among  the  shelters  and  under  tent-flies,  where  the  moon- 
light fell  in  unveiled  radiance  over  the  swift  and  silvery 
waters  of  the  Tennessee. 

"You  had  a  wounded  Confederate  officer  brought  in 
early  in  the  afternoon,"  said  he  to  a  weary-looking  sur- 
geon. "One  watched,  or  attended,  by  a  man  who  calls 
himself  O'Reilly — orderly  or  something  for  Colonel  Cut- 
ler." 

"Don't  know  his  name,"  was  the  instant  reply,  but — de- 
scriptively— "Fellow  with  a  headquarters'  pass  and  a 
headful  of  cheek?  Says  he  is  on  special  service?" 

"That's  the  galoot,"  said  Wetherby,  in  the  terse  ver- 
nacular of  the  day. 

"This  way,"  said  the  doctor,  and,  leading  on  past  many 
a  prostrate  form,  stretched  in  patient  suffering  on  un- 
screened blanket,  he  finally  came  to  a  tent-fly,  pegged 
and  stretched,  on  the  outskirts  nearest  the  stream,  and 
here,  unconscious,  moaning,  lay  beneath  the  shelter  a  tall, 
dark-haired,  haggard  youth,  whose  yellow-trimmed 
jacket  of  gray  had  been  thrown  open  at  the  throat  and 
chest,  and  into  whose  ashen  face  Wetherby  gazed  but  a 
single  instant  before  he  exclaimed : 

"Thank  God!" 

Whereat  a  burly  form  scrambled  from  underneath  a 
brand-new  blanket  and  heaved  up  to  its  feet,  staring, 
startled,  at  the  official  visitors;  then  speedily  assuming 
an  air  of  independent,  impudent  unconcern.  To  him  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  333 

officers  paid  no  attention.  The  eyes  of  the  three  were  on 
Wetherby,  and  Wetherby  turned  sharply  on  the  stranger. 
"O'Reilly,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"Obeying  orders,  sir." 

"Whose  ?" 

"I  take  'em  from  Colonel  Cutler,  but  they  come  mostly 
from — higher  yet." 

"And  what  have  you  to  do  with  this  wounded  officer  ?" 

"Stay  by  him,  sir,  in  case  he  comes  to — and  wants  any- 
thing." 

"Doctor  Carnes,  was  he  searched?  Had  he  papers  or 
anything  ?" 

"All  gone  before  he  got  to  my  hands,  major ;  this  man 
says  they  were  taken  to  General  Grant." 

Wetherby  turned  and  silently  motioned  his  comrades 
to  follow.  Once  weft  outside,  he  stopped.  "Did  the 
man  tell  you  the  name  of  the  wounded  officer  ?"  he  asked. 

"Said  he  was  Lieutenant  Don  Morgan,  of  Kentucky — 
that  Colonel  Cutler  and  he  both  knew  his  people  there," 
was  the  prompt  answer. 

Wetherby  looked  back.  The  burly  form  was  just  com- 
ing forth  under  the  fly,  as  though  to  join  them,  and  with 
unmistakable  emphasis  Wetherby  called: 

"You  said  you  had  orders  to  stay  there,  O'Reilly. 
We've  no  need  of  you." 

"I  thought  maybe  the  major  would  be  having  instruc- 
tions. Sure  I'd  never  know  what's  best  for  him." 

"You  can  ask  the  doctor,  then.  I  have  business  with 
him  now.  That'll  do,  O'Reilly." 

Once  fairly  out  of  ear-shot  of  the  would-be  listener, 


334  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Wetherby  again  halted  and  faced  his  friends.  "Gentle- 
men," said  he,  "for  reasons  I  can't  fathom  that  runt  has 
been  set  to  watch  that  poor  young  fellow  in  yonder.  Do 
you  think  he'll  live,  doctor?" 

"One  chance  in  four,"  was  the  sententious  answer. 

"Well,  for  his  own  sake,  don't  help  him  too  much. 
He'll  never  thank  you ;  nor  would  I." 

For  a  moment  the  three  looked  doubtfully  into  Weth- 
erby's  sorrowful  face. 

"You  knew  young  Morgan?"  asked  Bowers. 

"I  knew  young  Morgan,  yes.  That's  why  I  said  thank 
God." 

"Then  this  isn't " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!  Though  I  don't  mind  that  black- 
guard's believing  so,  and  letting  us  onto  his  game.  The 
poor  lad  dying  there  like  a  gentleman  will  never  get  Don 
Morgan,  or  your  friend  Freeman  here,  into  another 
scrape.  God  forgive  him  for  the  many  of  his  own! 
That's  Jack  Barbour." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Christmastide  at  Chattanooga,  and  there  was  jubilee 
in  the  camps  where  chagrin  and  starvation  were  masters 
in  October.  Supplies  were  abundant.  Boxes  from  home, 
and  dainties  from  the  sanitary  commission,  had  come  in 
car-loads.  Congratulations  had  poured  in  upon  the  vic- 
torious army,  yet  all  was  not  content  within  its  ranks. 
Saddled  long  with  misrepresentation,  it  had  become  al- 
most second  nature  to  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  to 
be  misunderstood,  and  even  now  its  evil  fortune  followed 
it.  The  divisions  of  Thomas  without,  if  not  against,  or- 
ders, as  Grant  would  have  it,  had  scaled  the  heights  and 
won  the  day,  when  the  divisions  of  Sherman  were  held 
powerless  at  Tunnel  Hill.  Now,  the  winners  had  to 
read  in  the  papers,  and  hear  on  every  hand,  that  their 
exploit  was  a  bagatelle,  that  Bragg  had  sent  all  his  men 
to  hold  Sherman,  and  there  was  nothing  but  a  skirmish- 
line  to  oppose  the  charge  of  the  Cumberland.  In  the 
distributions  of  honors,  rewards,  and  promotions  that  fol- 
lowed the  brilliant  victory  there  came  but  scanty  share  to 
our  friends  who  so  long  and  faithfully  had  borne  the  heat 
and  burden  of  the  day.  Not  until  many  months  after  did 
the  truth  begin  to  be  known — that  the  field  was  won  ex- 
actly as  had  not  been  planned — that  Sherman's  men  who 
were  sent  to  sweep  the  ridge  were  forced  to  stand ;  that 
Thomas's  men,  who  were  bidden  to  stand,  had  of  their 
own  motion  swept  the  ridge.  Not  until  the  war  was 


336  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

ended  was  it  proved  that,  so  far  from  being  opposed  by  a 
mere  skirmish-line,  there  were  more  brigades  in  gray 
than  were  in  blue  in  the  grapple  in  front  of  Thomas,  and 
three  of  the  brigades  opposing  Sherman  had  double- 
quicked  to  the  south  and  flung  themselves  on  the  left  of 
the  charging  line. 

And  so  again  had  Thomas  to  try  "not  to  feel";  to  sit 
in  silence;  to  see  the  favorites  of  the  administration  re- 
warded ;  to  see  his  loyal  subordinates  neglected ;  some  of 
them,  indeed,  made  to  suffer. 

There  had  been  a  somber  scene  enacted  one  late  after- 
noon, the  first  week  in  December.  There  had  been  a 
strange  gathering  about  the  bedside  of  a  dying  Confed- 
erate, whom  the  surgeons  had  snatched  from  earlier 
death  and  restored  to  temporary  consciousness.  He  knew 
his  end  was  near.  He  asked  that  certain  of  his  kith  and 
kin  be  sent  for.  They  had  not  far  to  come.  He  had 
asked  to  see  Ned  Freeman,  and,  pale  and  weak,  but  once 
again  upon  his  feet,  the  latter  had  been  shown  to  the 
solemn  presence.  Several  days  earlier  Major  Bowers 
and  his  colleague  had  told  Wetherby's  tale  at  headquar- 
ters, and  Major  Sam  had  confirmed  it.  He  knew  Bar- 
bour  well ;  had  done  his  best,  he  said,  to  capture  him  in 
'61,  when  first  he  realized  that  it  must  be  Barbour  who 
planned  and  headed  those  midnight  raids  in  the  rear  of 
the  Union  lines.  A  daring  fellow  ever,  he  seemed  to  be- 
come desperate  when  certain  of  his  people  disowned  his 
deeds — when  it  became  known  that  Colonel  Morgan  had 
closed  his  doors  to  him.  The  keenest  sorrow,  possibly,  of 
the  old  Virginian's  life  was  when  his  beloved  boy  re- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  337 

fused  to  break  with  Barbour.  That  Donald  should  have 
joined  the  army  of  the  South  was  no  surprise,  nor  dis- 
credit. What  the  father  would  not  tolerate  was  his  son's 
connection  with  any  partizan  or  guerrilla  work — any 
night-riding  in  disguise,  and  that  for  months  they  knew 
was  Barbour's  business — that  they  feared,  and  Barbour 
would  have  them  believe,  was  Donald's. 

That  Barbour  should  later  have  done  as  Donald  did, 
as  soon  as  the  latter  was  over  his  wound — don  the  uni- 
form and  draw  the  sword  of  a  commissioned  officer  in 
the  Confederate  service — had  not  served  to  restore  him 
to  honor  in  Colonel  Morgan's  regard,  nor  even  among 
many  of  his  associates.  Between  Donald  and  himself 
there  had  been  estrangement  ever  since  the  episode  of  the 
running  off  of  the  cavalry  horses  from  The  Oaks.  They 
had  been  the  means  of  carrying  Don  Morgan  to  safety, 
but  not  until  days  thereafter,  when  his  father's  indignant 
letter  came,  did  Donald  know  the  truth — that,  so  far 
from  being  captured  from  the  bivouac  of  a  cavalry  patrol 
in  the  open  field,  they  had  been  run  off  from  his  own 
house,  in  such  a  way  as  to  still  further  cloud  with  suspic- 
ion his  father's  name,  and  to  involve  in  possible  disgrace 
a  generous  adversary  and  gentleman,  Don  Morgan's  ben- 
efactor, Lieutenant  Edgar  Freeman,  of  the  Union  Army. 
Confronted  with  this  letter,  the  differences  already  begun 
had  widened  to  open  rupture.  Morgan  had  abandoned  and 
cut  dead  his  former  chum,  his  sister's  unaccepted  lover. 
It  had  served  to  discredit  Barbour  among  the  many  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Confederate  service,  so  he  had  thought  to 
win  distinction  by  displays  of  reckless  daring.  One  of 


338  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

these  came  the  night  of  Chickamauga,  and  resulted  in 
his  capture  in  front  of  Gracie's  lines  by  a  patrol  from 
Negley's  division.  That  night  he  became  Ned  Freeman's 
guest  and,  a  second  time,  the  beneficiary  of  his  soldier 
charity.  Next  day,  in  the  debacle,  he  was  recaptured. 
At  Mission  Ridge  he  had  essayed  a  daring  bit  of  indi- 
vidual reconnaissance  near  Tunnel  Hill,  and  was  shot 
twice  and  unhorsed  in  the  attempt.  Now,  he  was  dying; 
had  sent  for  his  mother ;  had  asked  to  see  Ned  Freeman, 
that  he  might  beg  his  pardon,  and  Freeman  listened  in 
bewilderment,  and  for  the  third  time,  to  the  voice  that 
had  hailed  him,  first  the  dripping  night  at  The  Oaks 
and  again  at  Chickamauga — no  wonder  it  had  there 
sounded  familiar. 

The  tale  was  brief.  Donald  had  run  foul  of  some 
Union  patrols  and  been  chased  the  night  he  rode  away 
from  the  Helms'  to  join  Barbour  at  a  rendezvous  on  the 
west  fork.  "The  night  Donald  rode  away!"  interrupted 
Freeman,  in  amaze,  with  joy  and  dismay  mingling  in  his 
tones.  Certainly.  Donald  had  promised  to  see  his  sister 
once  again  before  fully  deciding.  They  had  arranged 
signals  like  those  they  had  seen  in  a  play  at  Laura 
Keene's  Theater  a  while  before  the  war.  No  wonder 
Freeman  recognized  them.  They  had  their  meeting, 
Donald  and  his  sister.  The  same  night,  later,  he  was 
pursued,  but  managed  to  make  his  way  to  Claibornes', 
and  later  to  join  him — Barbour.  Possibly  Mr.  Freeman 
had  heard  of  Don's  infatuation.  Don  was  there  in  hiding 
when  Freeman  called.  Don  was  there  again  that  same 
evening  when  the  signal  shone  from  The  Oaks,  sum- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  339 

moning  him  to  a  meeting  with  his  sister,  and,  taking 
Don's  horse,  Barbonr  had  hastened  over  to  Claibornes' 
to  warn  him  he  was  wanted.  Leaving  the  horse  at  the 
barn,  he  was  cautiously  approaching  the  house  when  he 
heard  the  sound  of  affray,  a  shriek  for  aid,  then  the 
shot.  He  reached  the  spot  just  as  Freeman  was  felled, 
and  downed  the  big  brute  who  had  struck  from  behind. 
Then  Donald,  for  whom  it  seems  the  men  were  seeking, 
scrambled  from  the  window  of  the  room  in  which  Kate 
had  locked  him,  and  the  assailants,  badly  beaten,  were 
put  to  flight. 

But  then,  of  course,  he  and  Donald  had  to  flee,  as  the 
soldiers,  they  reasoned,  would  be  back  in  force.  He  and 
Donald  had  first  helped  carry  Freeman  to  the  house,  and 
then  vanished  for  weeks.  Early  in  January,  after  Mill 
Springs,  they  had  returned,  Barbour  acting  under  in- 
structions from  Nashville.  Yes,  it  was  guerrilla  work, 
but  the  inducement  was  such  he  could  not  refuse.  One 
night  Donald  was  shot  in  the  leg  in  a  scrimmage  with 
pickets.  Colonel  Morgan  and  his  wife  and  Miss  Morgan 
were  away  from  home.  The  cavalry  were  hot  on  the 
trail  of  their  comrades.  They  were  at  their  wit's  end 
for  means  to  get  Donald  out  of  danger,  when  that  rainy 
night  brought  answer  to  his  (Barbour's)  tentative  signal, 
and  Barbour  himself  went  to  The  Oaks,  believing  that 
in  spite  of  her  prohibition  he,  instead  of  Donald,  might 
see  her.  Freeman  knew  the  rest. 

Then  it  was  Donald,  her  brother,  whom  she  had  met 
that  night  at  the  Helms' ;  Donald  to  whom  she  had  mur- 
mured and  in  whose  arms,  probably,  she  had  wept.  Then 


34O  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

it  was  not  Donald,  as  Kate  Glaiborne  had  assured  him, 
who  was  his  rescuer  that  night  of  struggle  at  the  humble 
home.  Then  it  was  true,  as  Frances  Morgan  had  indig- 
nantly declared,  that  she  had  not  seen  Mr.  Jack  Bar- 
hour.  Then  it  was  true  that  Frances  Morgan  had  full 
warrant  for  her  indignation  at  him,  Edgar  Freeman.  It 
was  true  that  his  accusation  had  been  insult. 

"Will  you  tell  me  one  thing?"  he  said  presently.  "Is 
it  true  that  you  gave  it  to  be  understood  that  I  suggested 
your  taking  the  horses,  and  showed  you  how  it  could  be 
done — that  I  had  practically  aided  ?" 

"You  sent  money  and  a  message  to  Morgan,"  slowly 
gasped  the  prostrate  man.  "You  said,  now  you  were 
square." 

"I  had  reason  to  believe  it  was  he  who  came  to  my  aid 
that  night  at  Claibornes'.  I  learned  that  he  was  wounded 
and  in  peril,  and  of  course  I  sent  him  money  and  a  mes- 
sage. But  why  should  you  have  sought  to  ruin  me?" 

A  curious  look  came  into  the  dying  eyes.  A  spasm 
of  pain  distorted  the  pallid  lips.  "Men  of  your  own 
cloth  were  doing  that,"  said  he,  "and  they  had  no  such 
reason  as  I  had.  You  were  winning  what  I  had  tried  to 
win  for  years,  and  I  hated  you.  Now,  it's  all  over  and 
—I'm  done." 

And  then  a  woman's  voice  was  heard  in  the  adjoining 
room,  a  sobbing  appeal  for  pity  and  help  for  her  boy. 
"Poor  mother !"  groaned  Barbour,  and  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall.  The  doctor  bent  over  him,  then  silently  mo- 
tioned Freeman  that  he  would  better  go.  For  a  moment 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  341 

the  young  officer  hesitated,  strove  to  speak,  then  turned 
and  tiptoed  to  the  outer  air.  What  was  there  to  say? 

Fulmer  was  waiting.  "Did  you  see  her,  his  mother?'' 
he  asked.  Freeman  shook  his  head  and  moved  on.  He 
wished,  he  needed — to  be  alone  and  to  think. 

"She  only  got  here  yesterday,  you  know.  She  begged 
to  see  General  Thomas  this  morning,  but  he  was  too  far 
away.  I  suppose  he  explained  how  he  got  the  pictures/' 

"I  knew/'  said  Freeman  shortly.  What  Barbour  had 
not  explained  was  how  he  came  to  keep  them,  but  this 
also  Freeman  could  understand.  There  was  no  need  to 
explain.  That  picture  represented  all  of  Frances  Mor- 
gan a  broken  and  hapless  lover  had  really  won. 

A  few  days  longer  the  mortal  wound,  the  skill  and 
efforts  of  the  surgeons,  suffered  him  to  linger.  Thrice 
there  came  to  him  prisoners  like  himself,  two  officers  of 
rank,  who  had  been  captured  in  the  impetuous  rush  on 
the  entrenchments.  Gravely,  gently  they  sought  to  com- 
fort the  weeping  mother  with  tales  of  the  high  regard 
and  reputation  he  had  won  among  his  fellows  in  the 
Confederate  gray.  Daring,  dashing,  and  efficient  he  had 
certainly  been,  but  in  some  way  Bragg  and  Breckinridge, 
gentlemen  both  of  the  old  school,  had  knowledge  of  his 
earlier  war  history,  and  could  not  give  it  the  stamp  of 
their  tolerance.  It  was  such  work  as  might  be  set  to 
groundlings  of  the  O'Reilly  type.  It  was  something  a 
gentleman  should  have  shunned. 

And  even  as  these,  his  fellow  soldiers,  sought  oppor- 
tunity to  comfort  him  and  the  almost  heart-broken 
mother,  "that  man  O'Reilly"  hovered  about  in  obvious 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


hope  of  interview  of  some  kind.  It  could  hardly  be  to 
comfort.  It  was  probably  to  spy. 

Cutler  had  gone  to  Washington,  summoned  thither,  it 
was  said,  by  orders  from  the  war  department,  and  Grant 
was  not  there  to  bid  him  God-speed.  "He's  left  his  cur- 
dog  behind,"  said  Wetherby.  "Now,  let's  see  what  for.  ' 

The  solution  came  in  the  queerest  way.  Busy  as  was 
Wetherby  at  division  headquarters,  the  intense  clannish- 
ness  that  makes  so  many  Kentuckians  kin  held  him  to 
almost  daily  visits  to  Mrs.  Barbour,  if  only  to  see  her  for 
a  moment  and  strive  to  be  of  aid.  One  evening  he  and 
Bowers  came  together,  and  in  the  doorway,  caught  un- 
awares, stood,  or  rather  slunk,  O'Reilly^  Two  Confed- 
erate officers,  the  prisoners  above  mentioned,  were  just 
coming  out,  after  a  brief  call  upon  their  unhappy  friend. 
Their  escort  stood  ready  to  take  them  to  their  rude  quar- 
ters, but  all  men  stopped  a  moment  at  sound  of  Weth- 
erby's  voice. 

"I  thought  we  were  rid  of  you,  O'Reilly,  yet  here  you 
are,  sneaking  and  spying  again.  Now,  by  God,  you  show 
your  papers  or  get  out  of  this  !" 

"I  take  my  orders  from  Colonel  Cutler,  not  from  you," 
was  the  sullen  answer.  "Even  General  Thomas  can't  in- 
terfere with  me  —  and  he  knows  enough  not  to  try  it." 

Blustering,  defiant,  insolent,  he  had  begun,  but  all  on 
a  sudden  a  remarkable  change  came  over  him.  The  flush- 
ing face  turned  almost  yellow-gray.  The  bold  eyes 
glared,  blinked,  and  fell.  He  stood  like  a  man  stricken 
with  instant  palsy,  for  at  sound  of  his  first  words  the 
foremost  Confederate,  an  officer  of  artillery,  captured 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  343 

close  to  Bragg's  headquarters,  turned  quickly,  and  with 
amaze  and  recognition  in  his  soldierly  face,  gazed  stead- 
ily, menacingly,  upon  the  speaker.  Then  it  was  the  turn 
of  Bowers  and  Wetherby  to  look  astonished,  and  to  seek 
of  the  newcomer  explanation. 

"Better  stop  that  man,"  spoke  the  Southerner  quietly, 
for  O'Reilly  had  begun  to  sidle  away. 

"Back  here,  you!"  shouted  Wetherby.  "If  you  won't 
hear  me,  you  will  hear  Major  Bowers,  who  speaks  for 
General  Grant,"  and  Bowers  nodded  approval.  "I  mean 
to  settle  here  and  now  whether  you  have  right  to  be 
spying.  Lieutenant,"  this  to  the  officer  of  the  little 
guard,  "I've  seen  enough  to  make  me  believe  that  man  a 
thief,  and  I  charge  you  not  to  let  him  get  away." 
Whereat,  willingly  enough,  two  bayonets  were  leveled  at 
the  hulking  back,  and,  with  dread  in  his  eyes,  O'Reilly 
saw  himself  surrounded.  "You  seem  to  know  this  speci- 
men, major,"  went  on  Wetherby,  all  excitement  now, 
"and  if  looks  don't  belie  him,  he  has  reason  to  know 
you." 

The  answer  came  so  that  all  present  could  hear  and 
understand,  and  none  forget  it: 

"Know  him  ?  Damn  him !  I  know  him  for  a  thief,  as 
you  say,  and  a  deserter  from  General  Bragg's  battery 
before  we  got  to  Buena  Vista — a  deserter  to  the  enemy. 
I  was  a  sergeant — sergeant  of  the  battery  guard — the 
night  the  captain  ordered  him  spread-eagled  on  the  spare 
wheel  for  abusing  a  Mexican  woman.  Lieutenant  Thomas 
was  battery  officer  of  the  day  and  had  to  superintend  it. 
The  man  cursed  him  to  his  face,  and  I  gagged  him  for  it. 


344  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

The  next  day  he  was  gone,  and  a  good  horse  with  him. 
Take  us  before  General  Thomas  and  he  will  sustain  what 
I  say." 

This,  then,  accounted  for  O'Reilly,  his  hatred  of 
Major  Slow  Trot,  and  all  that  was  his — Rolfe,  of  the 
old  regiment — even  of  Freeman.  This  accounted,  pos- 
sibly, for  his  readiness  to  do  dirty  work  of  any  kind.  It 
might  even  account  for  his  alliance  with  and  usefulness 
to  Cutler.  There  was  no  need  to  drag  him  before  Gen- 
eral Thomas.  Bowers  took  responsibility  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  commanding  general,  and  that  night 
O'Reilly  raged  and  raved  to  heedless  ears,  a  prisoner  un- 
der guard. 

"Freeman,"  said  Wetherby,  the  following  morning,  as 
the  young  men  met  at  the  provost  marshal's  office,  "Mrs. 
Barbour  would  take  it  as  a  kindness  if  you  will  see  her  a 
moment.  I  don't  reckon  that  poor  fellow  has  more'n  a 
day  to  live." 

And  so  again  Freeman  found  himself  at  the  bedside  of 
the  dying  soldier  of  the  South,  a  grief-bowed  worriari 
kneeling  beside  him.  Barbour's  mind  had  been  wander- 
ing. He  had  changed  gravely,  greatly  in  the  three  days; 
He  was  well-nigh  spent,  but  he  knew  Freeman — knew 
him  at  once,  although  he  had  looked  only  blankly  at 
others  whom  he  had  known  better  and  longer.  His  lips 
moved,  but  the  words  were  inaudible.  The  pleading 
face  of  the  mother,  wan  and  tear-stained,  was  uplifted  to 
the  visitor. 

"You  have  won  everything  he  would  have  given  every- 
thing to  win,"  she  sobbed.  "Oh,  can't  you  say  the  word 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  345 

forgiveness?"  And  in  silence  Freeman  knelt  beside  her, 
and  took  the  cold  and  feeble  hand. 

His  eyes  were  still  moist  and  dim  when,  a  few  min- 
utes later,  he  stepped  forth  into  the  hall  and  sought  the 
outer  air,  but  his  name  was  called  at  the  office.  It  was 
the  ring  of  the  cordial  voice,  the  grasp  of  the  hand,  that 
told  him  this  was  Rolfe  who  had  welcomed  and  was 
leading  him  within,  where  stood  an  elderly  gentleman  in 
civilian  dress,  where  was  seated  a  pallid-faced,  auburn- 
haired  girl  in  mourning.  Freeman's  eyes  were  swim- 
ming, as  he  parted  from  the  stricken  woman  in  the  ad- 
joining room.  His  head  was  swimming  now  as  he  bent 
to  greet  the  woman  from  whom  he  had  parted  in  hot 
anger  over  a  year  before — the  girl  in  mourning  whom  he 
now  knew  he  had  wronged,  and  who  now,  God  help  him ! 
he  could  not  hope  would  ever  forgive  him. 

And  even  if  she  could  and  would — what  then? 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

They  had  come,  convoyed  by  Rolfe,  in  hopes  of  news 
of  Donald,  and  there  was  none  to  give  them.  They  had 
been  shocked,  and  the  poor  mother  prostrated,  by  the 
tidings,  wired  by  way  of  Louisville,  that  Don  had  been 
captured,  mortally  wounded,  at  Mission  Ridge.  They 
had  been  unable  to  leave  the  mother,  but  were  speedily 
reassured  as  to  the  boy  by  wire  from  General  Thomas. 
It  was  Barbour,  not  Donald,  whom  they  were  called 
upon  to  mourn.  Yet  cause  remained  for  deep  anxiety. 
Not  one  word  had  been  received  from,  or  of,  Don  since 
Chickamauga — the  battle  that  had  bereaved  so  many 
thousand  hearts — that  had  left  so  many  women  widowed 
and  desolate,  South  and  North.  Over  a  month  had  Mrs. 
Morgan  spent  at  the  bedside  of  her  kind  friend  and 
neighbor,  Mrs.  Helm,  whose  husband  had  fallen  among 
the  foremost  in  his  daring  gray  brigade,  and  now  the 
widow  in  her  turn  was  striving  to  comfort  the  mother 
crying  for  her  first  born,  while  the  old  colonel  took 
train  for  Chattanooga,  his  devoted  daughter  by  his  side. 
A  rumor  had  come,  through  Confederate  sources,  that 
Donald  lay  at  Rome  severely  wounded.  If  so,  surely  the 
victors  in  the  great  battle  of  November  would  put  no  ban 
on  the  father's  seeking  and  succoring  him  where  he  lay. 

And  it  had  been  Freeman's  fortune  to  meet  them  thus 
within  the  hour  of  their  arrival,  to  convey  to  them  the 
news  that  poor  Barbour  could  not  live,  but  that,  when 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  347 

last  heard  of  at  Chickamauga,  Donald  was  unhurt  and 
on  active  duty.  General  Thomas,  he  felt  sure,  could 
ascertain  whether  there  was  an  atom  of  truth  in  the  story 
from  Rome.  He  would  make  it  his  business  to  see  the 
general,  and  inform  them  as  to  the  result.  That  was 
the  extent  of  the  interview  between  them,  father  and 
daughter  on  one  side,  Freeman  on  the  other.  He  left 
them  as  they  had  come,  with  Rolfe,  and  went  his  way. 

It  was  another  day  before  he  saw  them  again,  and 
Rolfe  again  was  by  her  side.  Lodgings  had  been  found 
for  them;  inquiries  had  been  made;  officers  of  rank  and 
distinction  had  called  on  Colonel  Morgan  to  express  sym- 
pathy and  tender  service.  Rolfe  had  come  to  say  good- 
by.  The  "Children  of  Israel"  were  clamoring  for  his 
return.  He  was  to  command  the  brigade  in  which  they 
were  serving.  Colonel  Bostwick,  unlamented,  had  quit 
the  army  and  gone  home  to  run  for  Congress  on  his 
record  and  the  Copperhead  ticket.  "The  war  is  a  fail- 
ure" was  his  slogan,  and  that  of  his  party.  At  corps 
headquarters  it  was  said  that  he  left  pursued  by  charges 
of  misconduct  in  face  of  the  enemy,  but  that  would  not 
hurt  him  among  those  whose  suffrages  he  sought.  There 
were  officers  of  distinction  calling  on  Colonel  Morgan 
even  now,  for  Thomas  had  sent  in  word  urging  every 
possible  attention  for  his  old  friend,  and  so  it  happened 
that  Freeman  could  not  see  him  at  the  moment.  He  was 
shown  instead  into  the  humble  little  parlor  and  sitting- 
room  combined,  where  sat  in  such  mourning  garb  as  she 
had  been  able  to  get  together  at  The  Oaks,  a  presence 
with  tear-brimming,  beautiful  eyes  and  sweetly  pallid 


348  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

face,  looking  up  into  the  handsome,  soldierly  features  of 
Colonel  Ruddy  Rolfe,  who  was  bending  over  her  and 
holding  her  slender  hand,  in  attitude  at  once  knightly, 
devoted,  and  detestable.  The  fact  that  he  was  bidding 
her  be  of  good  cheer  as  well  as  good-by — that  he  felt 
sure  her  brother  would  be  restored  to  her — would  but 
slightly  have  reassured  Mr.  Freeman,  who  stood  a  silent, 
embarrassed,  and  miserable  witness ;  by  far,  as  an  officer 
and  gentleman,  the  less  presentable  picture  of  the  two. 

Happiness  and  a  new  New  York  uniform  are  great 
beautifiers,  and  Rolfe  had  come  and  was  going  in  both. 
Freeman,  gaunt,  shabby,  and  sorrowful,  would  have 
slunk  away  had  not  Rolfe  felt  a  tug  of  the  little  hand  in 
his,  caught  a  sudden  look  of  the  uplifted  eyes,  and  then 
a  glimpse  of  his  tall  lieutenant,  just  backing  out  of  the 
narrow  door.  He  hailed  him  instantly,  his  voice  cordial 
and  ringing: 

"Hold  on,  Ned!"  (How  brotherly  it  sounded  to  all 
but  jealous  ears!)  "Don't  go.  Wait  for  me  here  while 
I  say  good-by  to  the  crowd.  I'm  off  to  the  regiment  in 
an  hour,  and  was  going  from  here  to  find  you.  Missed 
you  last  night.  Where  on  earth  were  you?" 

Then,  never  waiting  for  reply,  he  went  bustling  out 
into  the  sunshine,  and  for  the  first  time  in  ages  Ned 
Freeman  found  himself  with  Frances  Morgan,  alone. 

She  half-rose  from  the  prim  little  horsehair  sofa,  and 
he  stood  half-way  across  the  little,  old-fashioned,  provin- 
cial sitting-room,  close  to  the  wood-burning,  open- 
hearthed  stove. 

"I  came  to  say  that  we'll  know  by  night  about  that 


The  Rock  of  Chickamaugft.  349 

story  from  Rome,"  he  began.  "General  Thomas  believes 
it  untrue,  but  started  instant  inquiry  last  evening." 

"Father  knows,"  was  the  quiet  answer,  "Have  you 
news  of  Mr.  Barbour?"  . 

He  faltered  a  little.  "Didn't  the  colonel  tell  you? 
They  thought  him — gone — an  hour  ago." 

"They  were  mistaken.  I  had  a  message  from  his 
mother,  later,  but — at  any  moment  it  might  be.  She  was 
to  send  for  me  then,  and  I  thought  possibly  you  came — 
for  that." 

He  shook  his  head,  and  stood  one  moment  in  deep  de- 
jection. He  owed  her  apology,  yet  his  tongue  refused 
to  speak,  nor  would  she  help  him.  She  might  have 
walked  away  to  the  window  and  turned  her  back  upon 
him,  but  she  would  not  even  do  that.  In  the  absurd, 
tight-waisted,  balloon-skirted  dress  of  the  period,  relieved 
only  by  the  simple  little  white  collar  at  the  throat — the 
ugliest  garb  ever  worn  by  beautiful  woman — she  stood 
before  him  now,  her  eyes,  soft  and  brimming  but  a  mo- 
ment ago,  now  almost  hard  and  scornful.  In  glance,  in 
air,  in  attitude,  she  was  bidding  him  speak,  if  he  had 
anything  to  say,  and  begone  if  he  had  not.  It  was  a  hope- 
less situation  at  best,  and  hopeless,  helpless,  he  stood 
and  looked  at  her. 

"I  have  been  learning  a  lot  about  you,"  he  began  awk- 
wardly, miserably,  and  the  beginning  was  the  ending. 
She  checked  him  with  uplifted  hand. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  to  talk  of  it,"  she  said.  "You 
were  mistaken.  I  was  mistaken,  and — you  both  have 
my  best  wishes,"  and  before  he  could  recover  from  his 


350  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

amaze  there  came  quick  footsteps  in  the  hall,  and  her 
father's  voice  and  Rolfe's.  She  was  needed  at  once. 
She  was  gone. 

They  told  him  later,  for  he  did  not  see  Frances — how 
Barbour  had  died — how,  for  two  days  after,  the  girl 
hardly  left  the  heart-broken  mother.  Jack  had  been  that 
poor  mother's  spoiled  and  petted  darling.  She  had  "so 
hoped  to  see  him  settled,"  but  everything  had  gone 
wrong,  and  now  everything  was  over  for  him  and  for  her. 

Not  until  they  took  her  to  the  crowded  train  and 
saw  her  safely  away  did  Frances  leave  her.  They  would 
have  gone  with  her  but  that  wonderful  news  had  come. 
Donald  was  indeed  wounded,  but  not  in  Rome.  Donald 
had  been  brought  into  Cleveland,  was  to  be  carried  to 
hospital-camp  up  the  Tennessee,  was  doing  famously, 
said  the  despatch,  and  they  were  to  meet  him  there.  Not 
fpr  another  year  did  Edgar  Freeman  see  her  face  again. 

And  what  a  year! 

There  was  scattering  of  the  armies  and  their  leaders 
before  they  rang  the  old  year  out,  the  hopeful  new  year 
in.  Bragg  had  gone  under.  Unloved  by  his  men  be- 
cause of  his  harsh  measures,  there  was  none  to  grieve 
when  he  stood  relieved  of  command.  Longstreet  had 
gone  to  Knoxville,  whither  Grant  and  Sherman  followed 
and  tricked  him  of  the  expected  triumph  over  Burnside. 
Groom  and  groomsman  in  the  quiet  little  army  wedding 
of  the  long  ago,  Grant  and  Longstreet  again  had  come 
together,  the  latter  now  no  longer  "best  man,"  but  only 
second  best.  Then  Burnside  stood  relieved,  first  of  his 
peril,  and  then  of  his  command;  and  then,  this  matter 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  351 

settled,  there  came  new  distribution :  Grant  making  head- 
quarters at  Nashville ;  Sherman  going  back  to  Memphis ; 
and,  with  nothing  especial  to  do  for  the  time  being, 
Thomas  and  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland  were  held 
about  Chattanooga,  where  they  were  far  removed  from 
Washington,  and  the  newspapers — where  it  wasn't  long 
before  they  found  again  how  true  it  is  that  the  absent 
get  the  worst  of  everything. 

The  campaign,  the  hard  knocks,  the  certain  something 
of  which  he  could  not  speak  to  any  one,  had  played 
havoc  with  Freeman's  health,  and  in  late  December  they 
had  him  in  hospital,  which  was  how  he  failed  to  see  the 
Morgans  when  they  came  floating  down  the  Tennessee 
with  the  convalescing  Don,  en  route  for  Stevenson  and 
then  home  by  rail,  paroled.  In  January  they  had  Free- 
man up,  but  so  run  down  that  the  medical  officers  said 
home  nursing  was  what  he  needed,  and  his  general  saw 
it  and  wrote  himself  to  Grant.  There  was  to  be  "nothing 
doing"  of  consequence  until  spring,  and  the  quiet  yet 
forceful  one  sent  him  on  to  Louisville  and  thence  to  the 
mother  and  sister  on  the  Hudson,  preceded  by  letters 
from  Ruddy  Rolfe  that  prepared  them  for  his  plight. 
Two  months  in  such  hands  went  far  toward  his  restora- 
tion, two  months  during  which  there  came  many  a  letter 
with  the  Chattanooga  military  postmark  for  sister  Elsie, 
whose  contents  seemed  to  give  her  much  more  joy  than 
general  information.  There  came  several  letters  with 
the  New  Orleans  postmark  for  himself,  letters  whose 
contents  were  a  mystery  to  the  mother  and  a  misery  to 
their  one  reader. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


With  March  came  stirring  news  —  Grant  made  lieu- 
tenant-general and  ordered  to  the  East  in  supreme  com- 
mand of  all  the  forces  in  the  field;  Sherman  to  succeed 
him  in  command  of  the  military  division  of  the  Missis- 
sippi, and  Thomas,  as  usual,  being  left  about  where  he 
was.  A  reputation  for  being  a  "stayer"  is  sometimes 
used  to  one's  disadvantage. 

And  Grant  had  been  busy,  striving  to  reestablish  cer- 
tain fallen  idols  whom  he  thought  harshly  dealt  with.  He 
had  been  pleading  with  the  powers  for  Buell,  for  McClel- 
Jan,  even  for  Fremont.  He  had  strived  to  restore  Mc- 
Cook,  Crittenden,  and  Negley,  shorn  of  their  commands 
as  a  result  of  Chickamauga  and  other  misfortunes,  but 
}iis  efforts  had  not  been  crowned  with  success.  Buell 
would  not  take  the  billet  offered  him,  because  it  threw 
him  under  Sherman,  an  older  and  a  wiser  man.  Mc- 
Clellan  had  decided  to  stop  soldiering  and  run  for  Presi- 
dent. Fremont  was  out  of  the  question;  and  the  iron 
secretary,  still  backed  by  Halleck,  would  not  listen  to 
propositions  in  favor  of  the  others.  As  for  Thomas, 
there  had  been  something  said  about  Granger's  not  start- 
ing for  Knoxville,  as  ordered—  there  was  ever  something 
buzzing  in  secretarial  ears  about  Southern  affiliations  and 
Virginia  kinship.  There  was  ever,  that  sodden  spring 
about  the  war  department,  a  certain  pale-faced,  pop-eyed, 
Ian  tern-  jawed,  mephistophelean,  busybody  of  a  colonel, 
worming  himself  in  at  every  conceivable  opportunity. 
There  was  a  new  story  about  Thomas  trafficking  with  the 
enemy  in  the  interests  of  young  Kentucky  officers  and 
old  Virginia  families.  There  was  a  man  up  from  Chat- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


tanooga  who  had  been  in  the  secret  service  in  some  ca- 
pacity, and  the  very  day  that  Grant  came  down  the  dim 
corridor  of  the  old  war  department  building  from  his  first 
visit  to  the  secretary's  office  there  was  a  scene. 

A  crowd  had  gathered  at  the  entrance,  and,  face  to 
face,  just  within  it,  two  parties  came  into  collision  —  the 
silent,  thoughtful,  bearded  general,  hurrying  out,  with  a 
few  of  his  staff,  and  a  tall,  sallow,  smooth-faced  colonel, 
attended  by  a  burly  civilian,  hastening  in.  Ignoring  the 
fact  that  he  was  almost  rudely  jostled  by  the  tall  officer, 
whose  eyes,  not  yet  adjusted  to  the  gloomy  interior,  had 
failed  to  place  him,  Grant  pushed  sturdily  ahead.  Not 
so  pugnacious  little  Bowers,  who,  on  his  left,  had  been 
butted  into,  and  for  a  second  forced  back.  In  that  second 
he  had  recognized  his  antagonist,  and  in  the  next  he 
opened  on  him  : 

"It's  barely  three  months  since  you  were  kicked  out 
of  Chattanooga,  and  now  here  you  are  at  Washington. 
Colonel  Cutler,  you've  been  told  this  man  was  a  deserter 
and  a  thief,  yet  you  still  consort  with  him." 

"He  has  not  yet,  sir,  outlived  his  usefulness,"  was  Cut- 
ler's reply,  after  seeing  Grant  fairly  beyond  ear-shot. 

"Well,  he  may  be  tolerated  here"  said  Bowers  hotly, 
"but  there's  one  place  he  won't  be,  and  that's  at  the  head- 
quarters of  the  army,"  and  with  that  he  went  bounding 
after  his  chief,  leaving  the  oddly  assorted  pair  to  lose 
themselves  in  the  long  corridor. 

Oddly  enough,  reporting  at  Washington  within  an- 
other day,  Ned  Freeman  heard  of  the  incident  as  he  sat 


354  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

at  WillarcTs,   and  he  knew,  without  the  mention  of  a 
name,  just  who  Cutler's  companion  must  be. 

Disheartened  by  his  treatment  at  Springfield,  where 
junior  officers  had  again  been  promoted  over  his  head; 
backed  by  earnest  letters  from  General  Thomas  and  the 
personal  aid  of  a  most  distinguished  senator,  Freeman 
had  come  to  ask  of  the  President  a  commission  as  a  lieu- 
tenant in  the  regular  service.  They  had  made  him  a 
captain  and  additional  aide-de-camp,  but  that  was  in  the 
volunteers  and  outranked  by  many  a  contemporary. 
What  he  sought  was  the  regular  establishment.  Many 
such  commissions  had  been  given  to  men  in  civil  life, 
from  the  volunteers  and  from  the  ranks,  so  why  not  to 
him?  It  was  a  raw  March  morning.  The  White  House 
looked  bedraggled  and  dismal.  The  usual  crowd  hung 
noisily  about  the  stairway  and  the  corridor.  The  old 
anteroom  was  crowded,  and  a  full  hour's  wait  was  nec- 
essary before  even  Senator  Harris  could  be  received. 
Freeman  stalked  beside  him,  tall,  slender,  and  looking 
at  last  "very  fit,"  and  so  did  the  new  uniform,  but  his 
heart  beat  loudly  as  they  were  ushered  into  the  presence 
of  the  great  President.  Freeman  had  never  seen  him 
before.  Never  did  he  see  him  again;  but  never  could 
he  forget  him.  Lincoln  was  lounging  at  a  broad-topped 
desk,  dictating  to  a  secretary,  while  three  or  four  dis- 
tinguished men,  whom  Freeman  recognized  at  once  from 
the  pictures  he  had  seen,  stood  aside,  exchanging  some- 
what ceremonious  greeting  with  his  guide.  In  utter  con- 
trast to  their  formal  manner,  extending  a  huge,  bony 
hand  to  the  newcomer,  but  without  removing  the  other 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  355 

from  his  pocket  or  his  leg  from  the  table,  Mr.  Lincoln  fin- 
ished his  paragraph,  then  turned  a  pair  of  deep-set, 
mournful,  dark  eyes  upon  his  latest  caller.  "Senator," 
said  he,  "I  wish  you  had  happened  in  before  General 
Grant  left.  I  wanted  you  to  meet  him.  He  looked  as 
little  like  a  soldier  as  I  do  like  a  saint,  but  he's  got  it  in 
him.  He  makes  even  Stanton  back  water." 

Telling  of  it  later,  the  senator  said  he  came  within  an 
ace  of  saying,  "I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  which,  in  view  of  his 
errand,  might  not  have  been  politic.  "I  had  one  look,  and 
two  words  from  him,  Mr.  President,"  was  the  reply,  "and 
I  have  come  to  present  Captain  Freeman,  of  General 
Thomas's  staff,  that  he  may  present  General  Thomas's 
letter." 

The  President's  somber  eyes  lighted.  He  looked  with 
genuine  interest  into  the  face  of  the  young  soldier,  as  he 
shook  his  hand.  "I  am  glad  to  see  anybody  from  Gen- 
eral Thomas,"  said  he,  "and  to  read  his  letter."  This 
he  did  at  once,  with  keen  appreciation  in  his  face,  and  yet 
it  clouded.  "We'll  have  to  see  Stanton  about  this,"  he 
said.  "That  little  regular  army's  his  special  province, 
somehow,  and  I  don't  seem  to  get  into  it  once  in  a  coon's 
age.  They  tell  me  I  said  it  was  easier  to  make  a  man 
brigadier-general  in  the  volunteers  than  second  lieutenant 
in  Stanton's  reserves,  but  we  can  try  it,"  and  he  scratched 
a  few  lines  on  the  back  of  the  envelope,  "and  wish  you 
the  best  of  luck."  Then,  almost  before  Freeman  could 
thank  him,  the  President  had  turned  away  and  button- 
holed a  waiting  senator. 

An  hour  later,  without  Senator  Harris,  Freeman  was 


356  Thf  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 


summoned  to  enter  a  dimly  lighted  room  in  the  war  de- 
partment building;  found  himself  facing  a  stout-built 
man,  with  a  massive  head,  a  huge  brow,  broad  and  high  ; 
a  somewhat  pallid  face,  framed  in  gray  hair  and  ragged 
beard,  frowning  up  at  him  through  steel-rimmed  spec- 
tacles. Without  a  word  he  almost  snatched  the  letter 
from  Freeman's  extended  hand;  glanced  at  the  Presi- 
dent's words;  scowled;  tore  open  the  sheet;  read  barely 
five  lines,  and  burst  out,  turning  crimson  as  he  spoke  : 

"The  regular  army  ?  No,  sir  !  Not  if  a  dozen  generals 
asked  it!  You  will  go  back  to  duty  or  stay  in  arrest 
Show  the  gentleman  out!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

What  a  year,  indeed!  In  May  the  two  great  armies 
of  the  Union,  with  Grant  and  Sherman,  respectively,  at 
their  heads,  pushed  southward,  one  on  Richmond,  the 
other  on  Atlanta.  Between  the  former  and  the  threat- 
ened capital  stood  ever  that  cavalier  commander,  Lee — 
finest  soldier  of  the  South — forcing  our  stubborn  leader 
to  turn  aside  and  imprinting  upon  the  records  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  the  heaviest  yet  of  all  its  solemn 
rosters  of  killed,  wounded,  and  missing.  Between  the 
latter  and  the  Gate  City  interposed  "Joe"  Johnston,  loved 
by  his  President  as  little  as  was  his  predecessor,  Bragg, 
by  the  people  and  the  Southern  press.  Manfully  did 
Johnston  oppose  the  "meteoric"  Sherman,  forcing  on 
him  many  a  bloody  fight,  but  losing  at  the  last  Atlanta 
and  his  official  head.  In  the  East  Lee  had  fought  Grant 
to  a  stand  that  was  destined  to  last  well  into  another  year. 
In  the  West  Sherman  had  decided  to  cut  loose  from  At- 
lanta and  hew  a  way  through  the  Southland  to  the  sea. 
Then  suddenly  there  loomed  another  meteor  in  the  firma- 
ment— another  of  the  galaxy  of  stars  that  shot  from  the 
old  Second  Cavalry,  the  regiment  that  gave  so  many 
generals  to  both  sides.  Thomas's  lieutenant  of  five  years 
back,  young,  vehement,  vigorous — a  fighter,  albeit  an  arm 
had  been  wrecked  at  Gettysburg  and  a  leg  lost  at  Chicka- 
maiiga — was  given  the  command  of  a  powerful  force 
and  bidden  to  strike  for  Nashville  and  the  cities  of  the 


358  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

Ohio,  even  as  Sherman  started  for  the  sea.  An  army 
had  to  be  improvised  to  meet  him  and  defend.  Who  bet- 
ter than  his  former  major  could  know  and  handle  Hood? 
Who  better  than  Thomas  could  defend  ? 

And  so  at  last,  in  the  fall  of  '64,  we  find  our  long- 
time head  of  the  subordinate  Army  of  the  Cumberland  at 
the  head  of  an  independent  but  scattered  army  in  the 
field,  a  motley,  ill-conditioned  force,  perhaps,  but  still  an 
independent  command.  There  was  the  remnant  of  the 
old  Fourth  Corps,  now  under  that  stanch  fighter,  Stan- 
ley. There  was  the  later  edition  of  the  Army  of  the 
Ohio  under  an  as  yet  untried  general,  Schofield,  the  sol- 
dier, scholar,  and  diplomat.  There  was  little  cavalry 
worth  mention.  There  were  not  many  light  guns.  Sher- 
man naively  wrote,  "I  will  send  back  to  you  all  the  dis- 
mounted cavalry,  the  ineffectives,  the  sick,  wounded, 
etc.,"  and  out  of  these  our  patient  and  apparently  phleg- 
matic chief  was  to  improvise  a  fighting  force  to  beat 
Hood,  who  had  half  a  dozen  veteran  divisions,  led  by 
such  war-tried  veterans  as  Cleburne,  Cheatham,  Stewart, 
and  S.  D.  Lee,  and  not  a  day  was  to  be  lost. 

The  bloodiest  battle  of  its  size  was  that  of  Franklin, 
fought  by  Schofield  and  Stanley  to  delay  Hood  at  the 
Harpeth,  while  Thomas  spurred  to  Nashville  to  man  its 
defenses.  It  cost  the  Confederacy  some  seven  thousand 
fighting  men,  with  gallant  Pat  Cleburne  shot  dead  among 
his  charging  lines.  It  staggered  Hood  for  the  needed 
day  or  two,  and  then  on  he  came  the  remaining  twenty 
miles;  then  halted  for  reflection.  In  full  view  of  the 
fine  State  capitol  he  found  himself,  as  at  Franklin,  faced 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  359 

by  bristling  lines  of  works,  black  guns  on  every  crest  and 
height,  blue  overcoats  at  every  opening  and  embrasure. 
Daring  a  fighter  as  he  was,  the  butchery  at  the  Harpeth 
had  taught  him  caution.  In  memory  his  old  major's  in- 
domitable stand  at  Chickamauga  still  lived  and  warned, 
and  now  the  sight  of  that  old-time  major's  dispositions 
well  might  "give  him  pause."  It  was  Hood's  first  falter, 
and,  with  all  its  wisdom,  it  cost  him  dear. 

For  winter  had  come  again,  and  while  the  great  army 
of  Grant  and  Meade  was  stalled  in  front  of  Petersburg, 
and  that  of  Sherman,  in  light  marching  order  and  superb 
physical  trim,  was  striding  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea,  the 
government  at  Washington  and  the  people  behind  it  could 
.not  brook  the  sight  of  this  insolent  army  of  invaders, 
camped  in  threatening  lines,  encompassing  around  about 
the  stately  capitol  of  Tennessee.  Hood  had  come  on  con- 
quest bent  and  had  been  balked  of  his  prize,  but  that 
was  by  no  means  enough.  What  Washington  demanded 
was  his  instant  annihilation,  and  the  great  war  secretary 
could  not  be  made  to  see  that  before  Thomas  could 
begin  to  annihilate  he  must  have  the  tools.  With  his 
guns  and  infantry  he  stood  ready  to  deal  out  another 
Franklin  if  Hood  once  more  dared  attack.  But  to  take 
the  offensive  himself — to  attack  a  foeman  of  equal  prow- 
ess behind  his  own  entrenchments,  he  should  have  su- 
perior force,  and  in  order  to  overwhelm  and  annihilate 
he  must  have  horsemen.  With  Hood  was  that  born  cav- 
alry leader,  Forrest,  with  some  ten  thousand  well- 
mounted,  born-to-the-saddle  troopers.  With  Thomas  were 
the  so-called  cavalry  Sherman  had  dismounted  at  Atlanta, 


360  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

distributing  their  horses  among  his  divisions  and  sending 
their  former  riders  to  report  afoot,  and  in  deep  disgust, 
at  Nashville.  Straining  every  nerve,  Thomas  was  work- 
ing night  and  day  to  recall  the  convalescents  sent  home 
to  vote  (and  not  yet  returned  to  shoot  as  they  had  voted), 
striving  to  secure  remounts  for  the  dismounted  men  that 
he  might  have  something  in  saddle  to  oppose  to  Forrest. 
Then,  too,  arms,  ammunition,  and  supplies  had  to  be 
provided  for  the  quartermaster's  employees,  for  the  con- 
valescents, the  ineffectives,  and  others — the  "discards  of 
Sherman's  deck."  Then,  too,  it  was  raining,  raining 
dismally.  The  skies  were  gloom,  the  roads  were  sodden, 
the  fields  were  swamps,  but  if  nothing  else  was  in  work- 
ing order,  the  telegraph  was,  "the  government  at  Wash- 
ington still  lived,"  and  day  and  night  Thomas  was  being 
poked,  prodded,  and  goaded.  The  sapient  press  was 
lending  vehement  hand,  to  the  end  that  before  that  expe- 
rienced trooper  had  so  much  as  a  squadron  shod,  bitted, 
and  saddled,  the  North  was  howling  at  him  because  he 
had  not  attacked.  Before  half  his  cavalry  was  in  shape 
to  travel  appeal  had  changed  to  demand,  and  then  to  posi- 
tive orders :  Attack,  attack  instantly,  and  put  an  end  to 
the  shame  of  the  situation. 

Yet  what  was  the  shame?  Franklin  was  fought  just 
before  dark  on  the  very  last  day  of  November.  Not  un- 
til three  days  later  did  Hood  appear  before  Nashville. 
Only  three  days  had  he  been  allowed  to  rest  there,  yet 
on  December  6th,  late  in  the  evening,  came  this  peremp- 
tory mandate  from  the  general-in-chief,  a  thousand  miles 
away :  "Attack  at  once  and  wait  no  longer," 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  361 

Attack  at  once,  with  his  commands  still  scattered,  with 
many  of  his  cavalry  still  afoot,  with  only  one  brigade  in 
saddle.  It  was  hard.  It  was  hazardous.  Never  yet  had 
Freeman  seen  his  great,  patient  leader  so  sorely  tried,  so 
furiously  assailed.  "Too  much  like  the  McClellan  and 
Rosecrans  strategy  of  do  nothing,"  Stanton  had  wired 
of  it  to  Grant  at  City  Point,  and  Grant  was  over-per- 
suaded. The  old  cry  was  echoing  through  camp  and 
court  of  those  farthest  from  the  scene :  "Thomas  is 
slow."  "Thomas  is  inert."  "Thomas  never  could  fight 
unless  forced  to  it."  "Thomas  will  lurk  till  the  chance 
is  lost."  "When  Thomas  has  all  the  men  he  wants  Hood 
will  have  slipped  away."  Forgotten  were  Mill  Springs 
and  Murfreesboro,  Chickamauga,  and  Mission  Ridge  in 
the  fury  of  editorial  sarcasm  and  bureau  denuncia- 
tion. "Relieve  him,"  said  his  enemies.  "Take  him  out," 
screamed  the  press.  "Come  and  see  for  yourself.  Re- 
lieve me  if  you  will,"  said  Thomas  respectfully.  "But 
attack  I  could  not  before,  and  now — can  only  obey.  Dis- 
positions shall  be  made  at  once." 

Even  then,  on  the  7th,  outlying  commands  had  to  be 
drawn  in,  and  that  took  another  day.  Not  until  the  morn- 
ing of  the  gth  could  the  silent,  sorely  harassed  leader 
issue  the  order  to  attack,  and  then,  as  though  to  give  him 
needed  time  and  still  further  strengthen  his  hand,  Provi- 
dence itself  at  last  took  sides  with  Thomas,  and  a  direful 
storm  of  freezing  rain  swept  the  valley  of  the  Cumber- 
land and  coated  the  fields  and  roads  with  ice.  Men  and 
horses  slipped  and  fell.  Neither  side  could  march  or 
maneuver.  Attack  was  out  of  the  question,  and  the 


362  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

word  Grant  wired  in  exasperation  by  noon  was  recalled 
before  night.  He  had  ordered  his  great  subordinate  to 
turn  over  the  command  to  Schofield  and  step  aside.  God 
be  thanked  that  order  never  reached  the  men!  All  the 
next  day  and  the  next  that  storm  prevailed,  equaled  only 
by  the  storm  of  abuse  and  censure  from  the  North.  On 
the  afternoon  of  the  nth,  yielding  again  to  pressure, 
Grant  wired  to  delay  no  longer,  no  matter  what  the 
weather;  and  still,  as  neither  horse  nor  man  could  keep 
his  feet,  the  Rock  refused  to  move.  Then  Logan,  the 
Black  Eagle,  got  the  word  to  rush  by  rail  to  Nashville 
and  take  over  the  command.  But  even  Logan  could  not 
get  there  until  the  I4th,  by  which  time  Grant,  too,  had 
started  from  City  Point,  and  the  North  was  fairly  shriek- 
ing denunciation.  That  very  day  a  warm  wind  swept  up 
from  the  south,  and  thawed  away  the  armor  of  ice  and 
sleet.  That  very  afternoon  our  long-suffering,  but  in- 
domitable, soldier  called  his  generals  together.  That  very 
afternoon  his  orders  were  issued.  That  night  there  was 
stir  and  excitement  in  all  the  camps  within  the  Union 
lines  at  Nashville,  and,  in  the  dull  and  dripping  dawn  of 
the  1 5th,  just  as  at  Chickamauga,  a  dense  fog  obscured 
the  view,  but  could  not  check  the  move,  and  at  last  the 
lion  came  forth  from  his  lair  and  sprang  upon  the  foe. 

That  night  the  cabinet  sat  at  Washington  to  hear  the 
astonishing  despatch  that  had  just  met  General  Grant: 

"Attacked  enemy's  left  this  morning ;  drove  it  from  the 
river  below  the  city  very  nearly  to  Franklin  Pike,  dis- 
tance about  eight  miles." 

And  in  these  modest  words  did  Thomas  report  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  363 

result  of  as  scientific,  masterly,  and  gallant  a  battle  as 
ever  was  fought  in  America,  and  after  a  few  moments 
of  gasping  incredulity  and  amaze  the  North  burst  into 
a  storm  of  applause  and  congratulation  that  swept  the 
country  even  as  the  lines  of  Thomas  had  swept  the 
sodden  fields.  It  was  incomprehensible !  It  was  incred- 
ible !  But  it  was  so,  and  yet — not  the  half  of  what  was  to 
follow  on  the  morrow. 

Will  they  ever  forget  it,  they  who  followed  "Old  Slow 
Trot"  that  dismal,  dripping,  yet  glorious,  day?  Feinting 
with  his  left,  he  had  hurled  Steedman  on  the  earthworks 
at  the  east  of  Hood's  encircling  lines,  battling  so  hard 
that  it  seemed  as  though  by  sheer  force  of  weight  and 
numbers  he  could  sweep  the  defenders  before  him;  yet, 
all  the  time,  under  the  screen  of  the  fog  and  the  skirmish- 
ing troopers  afoot,  long  columns  in  blue  had  crept  out 
southwestward,  brushing  aside  the  gray  vedettes;  then 
facing  full  south  and  southeast,  like  a  succession  of  long 
ocean  waves,  had  come  rolling  in  on  Hood's  left  flank 
and  whirling  it  up  the  slopes.  By  noon  the  fog  had 
drifted  from  the  field ;  by  night  the  foe  had  followed  suit. 
Mile  after  mile,  ridge  after  ridge,  the  lines  of  Hood  had 
been  hammered  back,  fighting  hard  to  hold  the  Hardin 
Pike,  but  losing  it  and  eight  of  their  guns;  fighting 
harder  to  hold  the  Hillsboro  Pike,  but  giving  way  before 
the  stop-at-nothing  rush  of  the  lines  of  Wood  and  A.  J. 
Smith.  Then  Schofield,  held  in  reserve,  swung  afar  out 
to  the  south  and  lapped  in  around  the  Confederate  left,  to 
the  end  that  the  line  of  retreat  was  threatened,  and  only 
night  could  save  the  day  to  Hood.  It  came  all  too  soon. 


364  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

The  short  wintry  day  was  done  at  five  o'clock,  and,  with 
seventeen  guns  left  behind  him  and  some  twelve  hundred 
prisoners,  the  Southern  leader  had  to  look  to  his  flanks 
and  rear,  for,  slow  as  he  had  been  to  strike,  "Old  Safety" 
had  been  fatally,  horribly  sure.  Back  to  the  Overton 
Hills  Hood  led  his  stunned  and  stricken  lines.  This  was 
anything  but  the  sweet  revenge  for  Atlanta  President 
Davis  had  so  confidently  promised  them.  But  there  was 
still  the  promise  of  the  morrow.  There  were  now  but 
two  miles  of  front  to  hold,  when  yesterday  there  were 
seven.  There  never  was  a  time  when  Hood  did  not  fight. 

All  that  night  came  the  telegraphic  torrent  of  compli- 
ment and  congratulation.  Abuse,  censure,  complaint,  sus- 
picion, had  given  place  to  enthusiastic  praise,  and  for  all 
that  Freeman  and  his  fellows  of  the  staff  could  see,  the' 
one  had  just  as  much  effect  upon  their  quiet  leader  as 
had  the  other.  Long  after  midnight  he  lay  himself 
down  for  an  hour's  sleep.  The  issue  of  the  coming  day 
he  could  not  doubt.  It  needed  only  cavalry  to  make  it 
result  in  utter  ruin  to  Hood. 

If  only  he  had  cavalry !  The  morning  came  with  Hood 
defiant,  with  bristling  works  and  sullen  guns  aligned, 
and  grim,  hard,  deadly  work  for  the  Union  blue.  No 
need  to  waste  priceless  lives  in  frontal  assault  as  yet. 
Thomas  had  now  preponderance  in  numbers,  and  could 
send  Schofield  still  farther  round  the  left  to  come  sweep- 
ing in  furious  flank  attack,  and  the  morning  wore  away 
until  Thomas  again  was  ready.  With  the  prey  so  surely 
within  reach,  yet  fighting  so  desperately  to  the  last,  it 
were  mercy  to  his  men  to  spare  them, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  36$ 

But  they  would  not  be  spared.  Long  before  Schofield 
could  begin  his  looked-for  attack  the  brigades  at  the  left 
had  seen  a  possible  chance  and  their  leaders  had  sent 
them  in.  Over  to  the  right  "Bonnie  Scot"  McArthur, 
with  his  division  of  enthusiasts,  had  swung  at  a  line  of 
batteries  in  his  front,  while  Garrard  and  McMillen  drove 
in  as  supports,  and  just  how  it  happened  no  Southerner 
could  say;  in  spite  of  all  their  volleying,  they  found 
themselves  between  lapping  lines  in  blue,  and  right  there, 
no  less  than  three  generals  and  nearly  thirty  guns,  with  a 
whole  division  of  infantry,  fell  into  welcoming  and  not 
unkindly  hands.  It  ripped  the  very  center  from  Hood's 
defense.  It  opened  a  gap  that  could  not  be  closed.  It 
sent  a  storm  of  cheers  through  the  Union  lines,  and 
stirred  them  all  to  emulation.  Up  and  at  them,  right, 
left,  and  everywhere,  rose  the  ranks  in  blue,  and  when 
at  last  the  crash  of  Schofield's  volleys  was  heard  afar 
to  the  southwest,  the  storm  of  shot  and  shell  that  swept 
the  Southern  works  was  such  that  mortal  man  could  not 
withstand  it.  Here,  there,  and  everywhere,  by  squads 
and  scores,  the  defenders  went  drifting  away,  or  by  com- 
panies and  battalions  lay  down  their  arms  and  drooped 
their  flags.  By  battalions  and  brigades,  the  Union  lines 
came  leaping  on ;  nine  more  guns  taken  at  the  left,  eight 
more  at  the  right.  There  was  no  help  for  it.  Hood 
turned  at  last  with  breaking  heart — such  of  his  men  as 
could  find  their  feet,  or  a  mount  of  any  kind,  were  already 
in  flight  back  to  Franklin — and  at  sundown  the  battle 
of  Nashville,  with  the  Southern  army  of  invasion,  was  a 
thing  of  the  past.  In  all  the  war,  from  start  to  finish, 


366  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

there  was  not  another  that  resulted  in  the  titter  demoli- 
tion of  the  opposing  force,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
that  much  minor  affair  of  our  early  pages,  Mill  Springs, 
on  the  same  historic  stream,  fought  and  won,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  by  the  same  indomitable  leader  and  com- 
mander, George  H.  Thomas. 

All  over  the  North  it  set  the  joy  bells  ringing  and  the 
cannon  booming  in  exultant  salute.  All  over  the  South 
it  tolled  the  knell  of  hope.  The  last  Christmas  of  the 
Confederacy  dawned  in  despond  and  gloom.  Hood's 
army  was  in  ruins;  Sherman  was  in  Savannah. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"Old  Faithful,"  most  capable  of  staff-officers  and  loyal 
and  devoted  of  friends,  sat  in  his  office-tent  a  fortnight 
later,  summing  up  the  spoils,  communing  with  himself 
and  a  select  few  of  "Old  Safety's"  soldier  family.  "As  a 
result  of  this  experiment  of  Hood's,"  said  he,  "it  has  cost 
the  South  eighteen  generals,  sixty-eight  guns,  ten  thou- 
sand small  arms,  thirty-odd  battle-flags,  and  fifteen  thou- 
sand men,  which  strikes  me  as  a  pretty  poor  showing 
for  that  side,  and  fairly  good  work  on  ours  for  a  general 
who  could  only  fight  on  the  defensive.  I  wonder  when 
our  aggressive  fighters,  anywhere,  are  going  to  show  any- 
thing to  match  it?" 

"If  only  Rolfe  could  have  been  with  us!"  moaned 
Freeman,  who,  even  in  all  the  triumph  of  those  wondrous 
Christmas  holidays,  seemed  never  content  outside  of  a 
fight.  He  had  been  a  veritable  whirlwind  of  action  and 
energy  through  the  two  days  of  battle.  He  had  had 
the  consummate  good  luck  to  be  with  McArthur's  di- 
vision in  its  brilliant  charge.  He  had  had  a  horse  killed 
under  him,  but  was  up  and  away  on  his  orderly's  mount 
within  another  minute,  and  had  come  out  of  the  cam- 
paign without  another  scratch,  heartily  commended  by 
his  big-hearted  general,  and  congratulated  in  fond  mis- 
sives from  home.  Yet  within  the  week  he  was  solemn 
and  preoccupied  again,  and  all  the  staff  could  see  it.  "If 
only  Rolfe  could  have  been  with  us,"  indeed!  There 


368  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

was  no  man,  eve*  in  that  exuberant  march  to  the  sea,  that 
would  not  have  been  glad  to  share  the  honors  of  Nash- 
ville. But  "The  Children  of  Israel"  were  far  on  the  way 
to  Savannah,  Ruddy  heading  the  brigade,  and  not  until 
their  colors  were  planted  in  the  Carolinas  did  they  get 
the  full  particulars,  and  then  what  cheers  went  up  among 
these  veterans  of  the  old  Army  of  the  Cumberland !  All 
their  faith  in  their  loved  commander  had  been  justified 
time  and  again,  but  now — now  he  had  eclipsed  all  pre- 
vious records ;  now  he  had  fought  and  won  an  aggressive 
battle  that  utterly  wrecked  the  opposing  army,  something 
not  yet  recorded  of  superiors  who  would  have  it  that 
"Thomas  has  no  go  in  him." 

And  the  more  it  was  studied  the  bigger  it  grew.  Con- 
gress woke  up  wonderfully,  and,  in  ringing  words, 
passed  its  vote  of  thanks  by  name  to  the  victor  for  "skill 
and  dauntless  courage."  The  legislature  of  Tennessee 
rivaled  that  of  the  nation  in  its  praise,  and  the  great, 
patient  President  rewarded  with  the  commission  of 
major-general  in  the  regular  army,  dating  from  Decem- 
ber 1 5th,  the  great,  patient  soldier  who  had  won  such 
signal  victory  not  alone  over  a  valiant  army  in  the  field, 
but  a  virulent  army  of  critics  and  of  the  press  at  home. 
With  what  curious  sensation  must  the  war  secretary 
have  countersigned  that  commission!  With  what  sin- 
gular emotion  did  old  Cutler,  far  in  other  fields,  read  of 
that  significant  reward,  and  listen  to  the  rejoicings  of  the 
innumerable  soldier  adherents  of  the  silent,  undemon- 
strative commander — his  former  regimental  associate ! 

Possibly  if  Cutler  had  known  of  the  incidental  dam- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  369 

ages  that  resulted  from  Nashville  he  might  have  felt  less 
confidence  in  his  professional  prospects  that  he  was  heard 
to  express  soon  after  Sherman's  thrilling  despatch,  an- 
nouncing the  capture  of  Savannah,  a  Christmas  gift  to 
the  nation.  All  manner  of  men  and  material  of  war  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  pursuers  as  Hood  lied  south- 
ward. Perhaps  the  oddest  "outfit"  was  a  broken-down 
butcher  wagon  that  had  once  done  domestic  duty  in  the 
streets  of  Nashville.  Unfeeling  soldiery  of  "the  States 
in  rebellion"  had  cut  the  traces  and  confiscated  the  horses, 
leaving  the  civilian  owner  blaspheming  by  the  roadside 
back  of  Overton  Hill,  surrounded  by  certain  of  the  Con- 
federate dead  and  wounded,  and  so  suddenly  and  sum- 
marily pounced  upon  by  Wood's  rejoiceful  ranks  he 
hadn't  had  time  to  invent  a  plausible  tale.  The  first  one 
he  told  was  so  preposterous  that  a  crippled  Confederate 
officer  left  behind  in  the  rush  promptly  denounced  him 
as  an  infernal  liar,  and  a  deserter  from  the  Union  lines. 
This  led  to  their  both  being  overhauled  by  the  provost 
marshal  of  the  Fourth  Corps — also  the  wagon,  the  con- 
tents of  which  proved  of  such  importance  and  interest 
that  a  day  or  two  later,  in  spite  of  vehement  protest,  the 
claimant  and  the  contents  both  were  unloaded  before  the 
tent  of  General  Thomas. 

And  then  there  was  a  scene. 

"This  fellow  claims  to  be  in  the  secret  service,  gen- 
eral," announced  the  responsible  officer,  "and  swears  he 
has  been  acting  under  the  orders  of  Colonel  Cutler,  who 
has  no  connection  with  this  army.  Major  Lafitte,  of 
the  Confederate  Army,  who  was  captured  wounded  close 


370  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

beside  him,  swears  he  has  been  with  them  ever  since 
Atlanta — that  he  knew  him  before,  when  a  prisoner  at 
Murfreesboro,  and  that  the  man  acted  often  as  a  guide 
for  General  Hood."  And  all  the  time  Thomas,  of  the 
silver-blue  eyes,  was  silently,  intently  studying  the  slouch- 
ing form  and  hanging  head.  Then  all  of  a  sudden,  in 
tones  no  man  of  the  staff  had  heard  from  his  lips  since 
the  melee  at  Chickamauga,  Thomas  suddenly  spoke : 

"Hold  up  your  head,  sir,  and  look  at  me!" 

Dismally  the  order  was  obeyed,  and  one  glance  was 
enough.  "O'Reilly,  as  I  might  have  known,"  was  the 
quiet  comment.  "Let  Captain  Freeman  examine  his  plun- 
der. See  to  it  that  this  scoundrel  doesn't  escape." 

And  those  who  remembered  Thomas's  order  against 
pillage  and  looting,  his  stern  and  summary  methods  with 
the  few  men  who  disobeyed,  his  wrath  when  a  chaplain 
was  caught  in  the  act  at  Marietta,  his  almost  furious  re- 
buke of  his  own  orderly  who  had  merely  captured  a 
goose  on  the  fly,  could  readily  fancy  the  fate  in  reserve 
for  O'Reilly,  whose  boxes  were  crammed  with  the  spoil 
of  a  dozen  homesteads.  O'Reilly  knew  it  himself,  and 
collapsed.  One  of  the  first  things  Freeman  came  across 
was  the  pocket  memorandum-book,  ravished  from  his 
overcoat  the  day  after  the  flood.  There  could  be  little 
doubt,  then,  that  "Old  Pop  Eyes"  had  kept  the  letters. 
They,  at  least,  were  not  here. 

But  there  came  a  letter  as  they  lay  at  Nashville,  later 
in  the  winter,  that  bowed  Freeman's  head  and  filled  his 
soul  with  humility.  Only  at  infrequent  intervals  had 
he  written  to  Kate  Claiborne  since  his  return  to  duty 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  371 

for  the  Atlanta  campaign.  Only  infrequently  had  he 
heard  from  her.  The  Mississippi  was  open.  Mail  com- 
munication with  New  Orleans  was  almost  uninterrupted. 
She  had  been  most  lovingly  sheltered  and  welcomed  by 
her  mother's  kinfolk,  the  Millaudons.  She  had  been 
nursed  back  to  health  and  strength,  and  was  finding 
abundant  occupation,  caring  for  the  many  wounded  of 
both  armies,  after  the  ill-starred  Red  River  campaign. 
She  had  been  since  the  summer  of  '63  with  the  family 
of  her  uncle,  Philippe,  father  of  the  valiant  little  Pierre, 
and  when  she  wrote  it  was  all  of  the  Millaudons — their 
loving  kindness  to  her  and  their  appreciation  of  his 
(Freeman's)  magnanimity  toward  their  young  hotspur, 
rather  than  of  the  romance  that  might  readily  be  sup- 
posed to  lie  nearest  to  her  heart.  Sweet,  sensitive,  gentle 
were  these  letters,  but  Freeman  noted,  with  something 
almost  akin  to  pique,  or  wounded  vanity,  the  absence  of 
sentiment.  There  was  not  even  implied  reproach  when 
once  he  allowed  seven  weeks  to  pass  without  sending  her 
a  line.  On  his  part,  he  had  felt  bound,  when  he  wrote,  to 
write  affectionately,  to  refer  frequently  to  his  hope,  as 
soon  as  the  war  should  be  ended,  of  coming  to  New  Or- 
leans to  claim  the  fulfilment  of  her  promise.  Yet  what 
promise  had  she  made?  She  loved  him,  he  well  be- 
lieved that,  for  in  her  utter  desolation  and  distress  she 
had  not  had  strength  to  conceal  or  deny  it,  and  he  had 
told  her  that  he  loved  her,  had  told  her  then  and  there- 
after, and  tried  to  believe  it  was  so.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  the  earlier  passion  for  that  wilful,  capricious,  and 
fascinating  Kentucky  girl,  he  knew  it  might  well  have 


372  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

been  so.  He  believed  that  in  spite  of  that  passion,  when 
once  again  he  could  be  thrown  under  the  spell  of  Kate 
Claiborne's  presence,  it  could  be  so;  and  whether  or  no, 
he  meant,  God  helping  him,  to  go  to  her  as  soon  as  came 
the  end  of  which  Nashville  was  the  beginning,  and  claim 
her  for  his  wife.  He  never  expected  to  see  Frances 
Morgan  again.  She  doubtless  would  not  care  to  see 
him.  "Jt  was  all  a  mistake,"  as  she  had  frankly  said. 

But  after  Nashville  there  was  such  a  lull  in  matters 
military  in  the  middle  West  that  many  an  officer  was 
given  leave  of  absence,  and  some  went  down  the  Mis- 
sissippi to  see  that  gay  old  French-Spanish  capital.  New 
Orleans  was  still  thronged  with  Union  troops,  and  be- 
ginning to  thrive  in  spite  of  itself.  If  others  could  go, 
why  not  Ned  Freeman?  Yet  he  did  not  seek  it.  He 
told  himself  that  now  his  general  needed  him  more 
than  ever,  for  Thomas,  roused  at  last  by  the  lame  and 
halting  explanations  of  previous  slights  and  neglects,  was 
insisting  on  categorical  statements  as  to  the  allegations  or 
insinuations  lodged  against  him.  The  resulting  corres- 
pondence was  voluminous,  and  Freeman  had  been  put 
in  charge,  with  their  most  trusted  headquarters  clerk 
as  confidential  and  private  secretary.  "Old  Faithful"  was 
taking  keen  interest  in  the  unraveling  of  this  tangled 
skein.  "Old  Faithful"  was  heard  to  say  he  wouldn't 
stand  in  Cutler's  shoes  for  a  million  a  minute  if  com- 
pelled to  confront  Thomas.  No,  there  was  good  reason 
why  Captain  Ned  should  not  quit  his  post,  but  was  this 
apparent  to  Kate  Claiborne,  when  such  gallants  as  Ful- 


The  Rock  of  Cmckamauga.  373 

mer  and  Wilton  one  day  appeared  before  her  beautiful 
and  startled  eyes? 

They  knew  her  instantly  in  her  deep  mourning,  yet 
were  not  prepared  to  see  so  beautiful  a  girl  as  she  had 
grown.  They  met  her  at  the  entrance  to  the  great  Green- 
ville Hospital,  whither  they  had  driven  to  visit  wounded 
comrades — met  her  under  the  grand  live-oaks  of  one  of 
the  old  Millaudon  estates — met  her  walking,  arm  in  arm, 
with  a  slender  little  Creole  in  Confederate  uniform,  one 
sleeve  of  which  was  empty,  her  cousin,  P'tit  Pierre, 
paroled  and  permanently  crippled.  They  overwhelmed 
her,  yes,  and  him,  with  cordial  greetings,  which  she 
sweetly,  and  he,  poor  fellow,  but  stagily  and  sourly,  ac- 
knowledged. Pierre  could  not  so  soon  forgive,  even  when 
he  could  no  longer  fight.  In  an  endeavor  to  escape  from 
a  Northern  prison  he  had  been  shot  and  winged;  his 
sword-arm  was  the  sacrifice. 

"That  girl's  an  angel,  Ned,"  said  Fulmer,  when  he  got 
back  to  duty,  "and  she's  just  a  lot  too  good  for  you." 
Freeman  heard  their  tales  in  silence  and  wrote  in  self- 
reproach.  It  was  March  now,  and,  while  Sherman  was 
sweeping  northward  through  the  Carolinas,  there  came 
whisperings  of  "something  doing"  about  Petersburg  just 
so  soon  as  Sheridan  with  his  troopers  should  arrive ;  even 
now  his  scouts  were  scampering  down  the  tow-path  of 
the  James  River  canal.  Freeman  wrote  to  say  with  what 
eagerness  he  should  be  coming  the  moment  the  general 
could  spare  him,  and  just  after  the  grand  news  came  of 
Lee's  surrender  at  Appomattox  there  reached  our  aide- 
de-camp  these  lines : 


374  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

MON  AMI:  You  have  tried  hard;  you  have  done 
your  best  to  make  me  believe  that  I  hold  the  first  place 
in  your  heart.  You  have  been  tender  and  gentle,  and, 
oh,  so  good  to  me  and  to  mine.  You  have  been  brave 
and  honorable,  and  I  honor  you  for  it,  but,  Edgar,  you 
have  failed. 

I  own  that  I  tried  to  believe — I  wanted  to  believe.  In 
the  desolation  that  came  with  father's  death  it  was  sweet 
to  believe;  but,  with  the  gradual  return  to  health  mine 
eyes  have  been  opened,  and,  better  than  you  know  your- 
self, I  see  and  know  you.  Come  to  us  when  you  will,  for 
there  are  Millaudons  who  long  to  meet  you  and  to  bless 
you;  but  come  with  no  dread  whatever.  You  are  free, 
and  I  am, 

Your  friend,  now  and  always, 

KATHERINE  MARIE  CLAIBORNE. 

"Free !"  Why  should  he  wish  to  be  free  ?  The  gen- 
eral looked  up  from  the  papers  on  his  desk,  and  the  blue 
eyes  twinkled  and  a  smile  played  about  the  bearded  lips, 
for  he,  too,  had  been  hearing  news  and  getting  letters 
that  were  not  all  of  war  and  warriors.  "A  two  weeks' 
leave?  A  two  months,  if  need  be;  and  as  soon  as  you 
like,  my  boy." 

But  there  was  still  much  demanding  Freeman's  pres- 
ence at  Nashville.  The  trial  of  O'Reilly  before  a  mili- 
tary commission  had  been  dragging  its  weary  length. 
His  counsel  had  demanded  that  Colonel  Cutler  appear, 
and  the  colonel,  having  reported  at  Washington  in  com- 
pliance with  his  orders,  was  showing  not  unnatural  re- 
luctance to  "coming  into  court."  Indeed,  an  officer  of 
rank  had  come  all  the  way  from  the  war  department  to 
"talk  with  Thomas."  No  less  a  personage  than  the  sec- 
retary of  war  was  interesting  himself  in  the  matter.  It 
was  understood  that  the  mission  of  this  ambassador  ex- 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  375 

traordinary  was  to  plead  with  Thomas  in  behalf  of  Cut- 
ler, who,  the  secretary  was  free  to  admit,  even  while  ren- 
dering most  valuable  and  important  services,  had  "made 
mistakes."  It  would  be  so  much  better  all  round,  urged 
this  diplomatic  emissary,  if  now  that  peace  was  at  hand, 
we  might  drop  all  these  unhappy  little  differences  grow- 
ing out  of  the  bitterness  of  the  war.  Just  as  it  was  ad- 
mitted that  General  Thomas  had  been  misjudged — most 
abominably  misjudged — so  General  Thomas  would  admit 
it  was  possible  he  might  now  misjudge  the  motives  that 
had  actuated  Colonel  Cutler.  (Thomas's  face  must  have 
been  a  study  as  he  heard  that  proposition.)  In  fine, 
might  it  not  be  better,  in  the  interests  of  harmony,  if  this 
whole  business  were — dropped?  What  whole  business? 
"Why,  er— this  O'Reilly  matter." 

Perhaps  it  was  in  this  way  the  matter  leaked  out.  The 
general,  somber  and  unresponsive,  as  well  he  might  be, 
summoned  the  judge-advocate  of  his  staff,  and  those  who 
knew  old  Hunter  Brooke  could  fancy  his  response  to 
the  query  as  to  whether  the  O'Reilly  case  could  be 
dropped.  "A  double  deserter  !  A  spy !  A  common  thief — 
a  pillager!  looter!  robber!  incendiary!  all-round  scoun- 
drel !" 

The  officer  of  distinction  went  back  to  Washington 
and  Cutler  came. 

He  did  not  report  at  headquarters.  Captain  Willard, 
meeting  him  by  order,  as  he  stepped  from  the  train,  in- 
formed him  that  it  would  be  unnecessary.  Yet  it  was 
ordained  that  they  should  meet,  the  malevolent  slanderer 


376  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

and  the  magnificent  soldier  he  had  striven  to  undermine. 
"Old  Faithful"  had  not  misjudged. 

At  the  south  portico  of  the  capitol,  overlooking  the 
field  of  his  greatest  victory,  Thomas  came  face  to  face 
with  his  craftiest  foe.  Cutler  went  livid  at  the  instant, 
yet,  there  being  many  present,  strove  to  carry  it  through, 
and  extended  a  bony,  shaking  hand.  Thomas  looked 
him  squarely  in  the  face,  his  blue  eyes  ablaze,  looked  him 
up  and  down,  from  head  to  foot,  and  up  again  from  foot 
to  head,  slowly,  deliberately,  crushingly,  then  turned  his 
broad  back  upon  him  in  the  sight  of  all. 

"To  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  dead,"  was  the  word- 
ing of  the  first  recorded  sentence  in  O'Reilly's  case, 
though  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law  was  later  amended, 
more  than  one  officer  being  heard  to  say  there  was  little 
satisfaction  in  stringing  the  menial,  when  they  could  not 
even  smite  the  master.  Cutler's  testimony  had  in  no  wise 
helped  the  poor  devil,  and,  in  spite  of  active  dodging,  had 
vastly  harmed  himself.  The  beginning  of  the  breach 
between  the  great  war  secretary  and  the  new  President, 
the  successor  of  the  martyred  and  all-merciful,  was  said 
to  be  on  this  very  case.  Stanton  had  to  rescue  his  staff- 
officer,  for  Johnson  would  have  abased  him. 

And  in  all  the  tremendous  happenings,  following  the 
tragedy  that  appalled  a  world  and  threw  a  nation  into 
mourning,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  Freeman  could 
go  philandering  southward.  He  wrote  repudiation  of  his 
freedom.  He  went  northward  with  his  general  to  do 
homage  at  the  bier  of  the  beloved  Lincoln.  He  accom- 
panied him  on  his  brief  visit  to  the  Point,  mother  and 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  377 

sister  Elsie,  mind  you,  being  of  that  very  joyous  party, 
also  Ruddy  Rolfe,  fresh  and  vigorous  after  his  stirring 
campaign  through  the  Carolinas,  and  stunning  in  his 
silver  stars  and  yellow  sash.  He,  Freeman,  was  even  re- 
quired by  martial  etiquette,  to  be  presented  in  form  to  the 
war  secretary,  and  to  take  his  hand,  which  he  did,  turn- 
ing very  red  and  stammering,  "Good  morning,  sir,"  and 
thinking  all  the  time  of  that  first — that  other  meeting 
which  Stanton  possibly  remembered,  but  appeared  to 
have  totally  forgotten.  Freeman  even  stopped  with  his 
chief  in  Louisville  on  the  return,  and  there,  as  he  might 
have  expected,  and  possibly  did — there  again  met  and 
spoke  with  Frances  Morgan.  How  very  much  better  they 
were  looking,  the  elders,  now  that  the  war  was  over ! 
now  that  Donald  was  safe !  The  good  old  colonel  seemed 
ten  years  younger  as  he  and  his  beaming,  blissful  wife 
stood  clasping  Thomas's  hands.  When  last  Freeman  had 
seen  them  their  heads  were  bowed  with  care  and  dis- 
tress. How  very  much  lovelier  Miss  Fan  was  looking, 
now  that  the  war  was  over,  and  Donald  safe !  Her  beau- 
tiful eyes  were  dancing  as  Freeman  never  had  seen  them 
dance  before.  Her  pretty  face  was  radiant  with  health 
and  happiness.  Good  Lord,  what  an  ass  he  was  ever  to 
have  thought  she  cared  for  him !  She  did  not  even  cherish 
the  memory  of  his  grievous  affront.  She  seemed  totally 
to  ignore  it.  She  greeted  him  now  with  a  manner  gay 
and  blithe,  even  playful,  as  though  they  were  the  best  and 
jolliest  of  friends;  whereas  he  would  have  moped  and 
moaned,  and  he  took  it  very  much  amiss  that  she  had  so 
utterly  forgotten  his  devotion.  She  came  through  the 


378  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

interview  with  flying  colors  and  he  with  drooping  plu- 
mage, and  utter  depression.  He  was  so  disconsolate  he 
did  not  even  ask  her  where  Donald  was — Donald  whom 
he  had  heard  the  colonel  refer  to  as  fast  gaining  strength 
and  "in  the  very  best  of  hands."  Frances  gave  him  a 
saucy  "Au  plaisir"  at  parting,  and  a  toss  of  the  pretty 
head. 

In  July  they  called  him  North  again,  for  Elsie's  wed- 
ding, as  you  must  have  divined,  and  General  Ruddy  had 
a  six  months'  leave  in  which  to  go  beyond  seas;  and 
mother  was  to  join  them  later  on  in  Paris.  She  wanted 
first  to  see  her  boy  "safe  settled,"  for  his  fitful  humor  and 
forced  gaiety  told  her  of  his  mental  unrest.  Was  it  his 
prospects  that  worried  him?  No;  he  must  soon,  of 
course,  be  mustered  out  as  captain  and  aide-de-camp  of 
volunteers;  but  now,  at  last,  he  was  to  receive  a  com- 
mission in  the  regular  service,  low  in  rank,  to  be  sure, 
but  what  mattered  that  ?  The  army  would  soon  be  reor- 
ganized; everybody  said  so,  and  he  was  to  be  aide-de- 
camp to  his  beloved  general.  What  better  could  he  wish  ? 

And  then  the  mother  heart  would  have  its  way,  and  he 
bowed  his  head  and  told  her — told  her  of  his  plighted 
troth,  of  the  words  he  would  not  break.  There  was  no 
need  to  tell  her  of  his  love.  She  knew,  yet  knowing,  bade 
him,  with  her  blessing,  go  to  Katherine  Claiborne. 

And  so  one  exquisite,  starlit  night  in  the  late  autumn, 
he  found  himself  for  the  first  time  in  the  old  French 
quarter  and  the  Crescent  City.  He  had  heard  from  her 
but  seldom.  He  had  not  set  eyes  on  her  since  the  part- 
ing before  Chickamauga.  He?  few  letters  for  months 


The    Rock  of  Chickamauga.  379 

past  had  been  kind,  friendly,  even  cordial.  She  would 
not  accept  his  renunciation.  She  had  gently  but  firmly 
told  him  she  knew  him,  and  herself,  much  better  than  in 
the  mournful  days  at  Murfreesboro.  She  would,  always 
be  his  grateful  friend,  and  he  must  think  of  her  in  no 
other  way.  But  he  would  not — he  declared  to  himself  a 
thousand  times — he  would  not  wound  the  heart  that  had, 
unsought,  opened  itself  to  him.  Tenderness  and  devotion, 
lifelong,  should  be  its  reward,  and  as  mother  had  told 
him,  he  would  be  in  position  to  surround  her  with  every 
reasonable  comfort,  even  though  he  had  chosen  the  army 
for  his  career. 

He  had  given  her  no  warning  of  his  coming.  In  com- 
pany with  two  comrades  of  the  old  Cumberland,  he  had 
made  the  run  from  Memphis  by  boat,  and  had  reached 
New  Orleans  late  in  the  afternoon.  They  had  dined  with 
an  officer  of  the  First  Infantry,  at  a  quaint  old  restaurant 
near  the  French  opera,  a  musical  neighborhood,  as  he 
noted,  for  the  sound  of  song  and  laughter  came  floating 
through  the  open  casement,  and  the  narrow  street  seemed 
alive  with  sauntering  groups.  Freeman  was  nervous  and 
impatient,  yet  unable  at  once  to  leave  his  friends.  They 
took  their  coffee  and  post-prandial  cigar  upon  the  open 
gallery  overhanging  the  banquette,  and  found  that  quite 
a  little  crowd  had  gathered  underneath  the  windows  of  a 
dwelling  a  few  rods  distant.  Some  one  with  a  rich, 
melodious  tenor  voice  was  singing  gloriously  within,  and 
the  throng  applauded  rapturously  when  the  song  was 
finished.  A  rotund  little  gentleman  came  to  the  window 
in  response,  and  bowed  and  smiled  upon  the  people  be- 


380  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

low ;  then,  in  answer  to  their  cries,  returned  to  the  piano. 
A  chord  or  two,  with  the  touch  of  practised  hands,  and 
then  once  more  the  delightful  voice  rang  out  upon  the 
balmy  air.  Freeman  knew  the  song  at  once,  the  merry, 
mocking  "Donna  e  mobile"  from  "Rigoletto." 

They  waited,  these  warriors  four,  and  listened  en- 
raptured; as  did  the  watchers  on  many  another  gallery; 
as  did  the  hundreds  in  the  street.  How  far  away  seemed 
the  stress  and  carnage  of  the  four  long  years  of  battle! 
How  blithe  and  gay,  and  altogether  un-American,  these 
joyous  and  peaceful  surroundings!  Already,  with  its 
mercurial  temperament  the  French  quarter  had  lifted 
itself  from  the  gloom  and  depression  of  that  bitter  period, 
and  was  taking  heart  and  comfort  again.  Bidding  his 
comrades  adieu,  Freeman  strolled  through  the  cheery 
groups  below  stairs,  and  made  his  way  toward  Rampart 
Street.  He  had  studied  the  map  and  could  not  well  go 
astfay  in  that  rectangular  section.  He  had  tossed  away 
his  cigar,  and,  once  clear  of  the  block,  strode  rapidly 
along,  whistling  softly  to  himself  the  laughing  refrain. 
He  remembered,  later,  that  to  her  very  gateway  he  was 
haunted  by  the  witchery  of  "Donna  e  mobile." 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  house.  Every  one 
knew  the  residence  of  Philippe  Millaudon.  There  it  stood 
in  its  bower  of  orange  and  magnolia,  the  soft  light  from 
within  revealing  the  long,  Venetian  windows,  the  wide, 
encircling  gallery.  He  fancied  he  heard  voices  and 
stopped  to  listen,  for  his  heart  had  taken  to  beating  un- 
accountably. A  street-car  trundled  lazily  past  along  the 
esplanade,  its  sleepy  mule  stumbling  on  beneath  the 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  381 


foliage,  toward  the  distant  lights  of  Canal  Street.  A 
patrol  came  marching  by,  the  men  chatting  until  sud- 
denly checked  by  their  sergeant  at  sight  of  the  uniform. 
They  glanced  curiously  at  the  tall  young  officer  at  the 
Millaudons'  gate.  The  gray  had  they  often  seen  there, 
but  never  yet  the  blue. 

The  tramp  of  their  stout  bootees,  the  tinkle  of  the  mule- 
bell,  died  away  in  the  distance.  The  murmurous  sound 
of  soft  voices  through  the  magnolias  became  again  faintly 
audible,  and  still  Freeman  hesitated.  Then  somebody 
came  strolling  out  from  the  same  narrow  street  that  had 
brought  him  to  the  broad  thoroughfare — the  old  Rue  des 
Remparts — and  lo!  he,  too,  was  whistling  "Donna  e 
mobile."  Freeman  turned,  unlatched  the  high,  white- 
painted,  wooden  gate,  and  entering,  marched  manfully  on 
the  enemy's  works.  A  broad  flight  of  steps  took  him  to 
the  gallery  level.  A  broad  hallway  stood  invitingly  open 
before  him.  A  piano  trilled  under  a  light,  crisp  touch 
within,  and  cheery  voices  sounded  in  the  parlor.  Strange ! 
One  voice,  deep  and  manly,  with  a  soft,  Southern  intona- 
tion, he  found  wonderfully  familiar.  And  it  was  English, 
not  French,  they  were  speaking.  A  lamp,  hanging  in  the 
hallway,  threw  its  gleam  over  his  handsome  new  shoul- 
der-straps and  cap-wreath.  He  saw  no  bell-handle.  A 
quaint,  old-fashioned  knocker  hung  on  the  massive  open 
door.  His  hand  stretched  forth,  then  dropped.  A  manly 
footstep,  a  swishing,  trailing  skirt,  sounded  suddenly  at 
his  left.  Two  dim  forms,  tall,  youthful,  slender,  came 
sauntering  round  the  corner,  close  at  hand,  and  then 
stopped  short.  Only  one  instant  was  there  of  silence, 


382  The  Rock  of  Chickarnauga. 

then  forward  sprang  a  girl,  glad,  radiant,  welcoming — a 
girl  with  shining  eyes  and  soft-flushing  cheeks,  a  girl 
all  happiness  and  health  and  rejoicing.  He  felt  his  hand 
clasped,  and  thought  his  senses  going,  as  the  joyous 
words  rang  out  upon  the  air : 

"Captain  Freemanl  Oh,  how  good  to  see  you  here! 
Come  out,  uncle;  come  out — everybody!"  And,  with 
wonderment  in  his  eyes,  and  stupefaction  clogging  his 
tongue,  our  soldier  of  the  Union  found  himself  seized 
and  surrounded  by  swift-rallying  forms  from  every  outlet, 
some  still  in  Confederate  gray,  some  in  civilian  dress, 
some  in  the  expansive  skirts  of  the  day  and  generation — 
all  in  smiles — smiles  that  changed  to  bubbling  laughter, 
eyes  that  shone  with  welcome,  even  though  some  brimmed 
with  tears.  Then  he  was  led,  bewildered  and  dum- 
founded,  into  the  brilliantly  lighted  parlor  and  pulled  this 
way  and  that,  and  presented  to  Uncle  Philippe,  who 
rhapsodied  in  French,  and  found  himself  bowing  dumbly 
to  Aunt  Marie,  in  far  more  becoming  front  than  that  she 
wore  in  Tennessee.  And  here  was  Surgeon-major  Mil- 
laudon,  erstwhile  of  Lebanon.  Here  were  his  old  friends 
of  The  Oaks,  Colonel  Morgan  and  his  beloved  wife, 
whose  fond  eyes  were  overflowing.  Here,  tall  and  sol- 
dierly, despite  the  limp  and  a  cane,  a  major  of  Confed- 
erate cavalry,  whose  face  proclaimed  him  Donald  Mor- 
gan ere  ever  the  word  was  said.  Here,  clinging  to  the 
young  major's  arm  on  one  side,  a  glorified  Kate  Clai- 
borne.  Here,  clinging  to  that  young  major's  arm  on  the 
other,  a  bewilderingly  merry  and  mischievous  Frances 
Morgan. 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  383 

"We  told  you  at  Louisville,  you  know,"  said  mamma, 
"that  Don  was  in  the  best  of  hands." 

Was  it  for  this,  wondered  Freeman,  as  he  trod  home- 
ward upon  air,  was  it  for  this  that  he  had  been  warned 
and  welcomed  by  the  strains  of  "Donna  e  mobile"  ? 


CHAPTER 

And  yet  how  logical  the  sequence  of  events!  Donald, 
after  his  convalescence  and  exchange,  had  so  far  yielded 
to  Jiis  father's  wish  as  to  secure  a  transfer  to  Louisiana. 
It  kept  him  away  from  the  possibility  of  hostilities  about 
Tennessee  and  Kentucky.  There  he  soon  won  recogni- 
tion, and  a  detail  with  General  Dick  Taylor.  Seriously 
wounded  during  the  Red  River  campaign,  he  was  again 
captured  and  later  sent  to  hospital  at  New  Orleans. 
There  he  fell  among  friends  on  both  sides,  and  of  both 
sexes.  Long  months  he  lingered  in  care  of  the  surgeons 
— and  the  nurse.  There  was  a  time  when  his  letters  had 
to  be  written  for  him.  There  was  a  time,  later,  when 
Colonel  and  Mrs.  Morgan  found  it  necessary  to  visit  him, 
and  the  fortnight  they  spent  in  those  strange  surround- 
ings was  made  memorable  by  the  courtesy  lavished  on  the 
Virginian  by  officers  of  rank  and  station  in  the  Union 
Army,  and  by  the  hospitality  of  Philippe  Millaudon. 
Katherine  Claiborne,  niece  of  so  distinguished  a  citizen, 
and  Kate  Claiborne,  formerly  of  the  modest  home  on  the 
west  fork,  were  one  and  the  same  in  fact,  yet  how  very 
different!  Colonel  Morgan  realized,  what  he  had  earlier 
begun  to  see,  that  his  opposition  to  Donald's  love  had 
been  blind  and  unjust — that  Donald  would  be  fortunate, 
indeed,  if  he  could  win  such  a  woman.  When  they  went 
back  to  Kentucky  it  was  with  chastened,  relieved,  yet 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  385 


sorrowing  hearts — sorrowing  for  their  boy  who  loved  so 
deeply  and  whose  love,  he  said,  was  not  returned. 

But  that  was  long  weeks  before  a  certain  great  sur- 
render, following  months  and  years  of  most  scientific  and 
stubborn  resistance.  There  is  this  analogy  between  love 
and  war — persistence,  with  proximity,  works  wonders. 

The  summer  of  '65  saw  the  homeward  marching  of  the 
disbanding  armies,  but  prisoners  remained  on  both  sides 
to  be  accounted  for ;  prisoners  of  love  and  war,  and  of  the 
two  the  latter  found  speedier  release.  The  streets  of  New 
Orleans  were  filled  for  a  year  with  men  in  worn  Con- 
federate gray.  They  wore  their  chosen  color  long  after 
they  had  lost  their  cause.  The  streets  of  New  Orleans 
were  trodden  by  many  a  fellow  in  Union  blue,  come  again 
in  search  of  that  which  he  had  lost  in  the  sunny  South. 
But  Donald  Morgan,  still  wearing  the  gray,  had  never 
quit  the  scene. 

He  had  matured  many  years,  said  they  who  loved  him ; 
had  grown  much  older,  wiser,  much  more  earnest  and 
thoughtful.  He  must  win  her,  said  the  fond  mother,  to 
Frances,  on  their  return,  and  was  puzzled  to  find  that 
Miss  Frances  was  utterly  averse  to  discussion  of  the  sub- 
ject. She  was  even  less  responsive  when  her  mother 
would  speak  of  Miss  Claiborne's  charm  of  manner  arid 
person.  I  should  not  wonder  if  Miss  Claiborne  had  found 
sweet  revenge  in  showing  both  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Morgan 
how  very  attractive  she  could  be.  The  humblest-minded 
maid  that  ever  lived  could  hardly  be  expected  to  deny 
herself  that  luxury. 

That  summer  proved  tempestuous  in  "the  dark  and 


386  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

bloody  ground"  of  Kentucky.  Colonel  Morgan,  sixty 
years  of  age,  had  gone  to  Louisville  after  the  close  of  a 
certain  military  trial  at  Nashville;  had  there  sought  out 
one  Colonel  Cutler,  of  the  Union  Army;  had  publicly 
challenged  him  to  mortal  combat,  and,  being  denied  a 
meeting  on  ground  of  "no  sufficient  cause,"  had  done  his 
best  to  furnish  one  by  public  pulling  of  the  colonel's  nose, 
an  expedient  nipped  in  the  bud  by  the  vigilance  of  "Old 
Faithful."  Morgan  was  consumed  with  wrath  and  would 
have  fought  his  man  with  any  weapon  the  latter  chose  to 
name,  but  it  was  not  to  be.  Ned  Freeman,  too,  had 
planned  to  put  such  an  affront  on  Cutler  that  fight  or 
flight  would  be  his  only  alternative,  but  Thomas  got  wind 
of  the  project;  gravely  taxed  Freeman  with  the  rumor, 
and  said,  "No  more  of  this,"  which  ended  it,  but  not 
Freeman's  desire  to  fight. 

Nowhere  in  that  part  of  the  world  could  one  find  just 
then  a  detractor  of  General  Thomas,  but,  as  luck  would 
have  it,  Bostwick  turned  up.  He  had  been  one  of  the 
early  "discards"  of  the  army,  as  hereto  related;  and,  his 
"War-is-a-failure"  party  having  been  whipped  out,  he 
was  now  seeking  adventure  and  profit  in  the  Southland. 
Bostwick  thought  it  safe  to  try  to  bully  Freeman,  whose 
crippled  arm  would  probably  be  guarantee  against  attack. 
It  was  not,  however.  Freeman  listened  one  second,  in- 
credulous, to  Bostwick's  insolence,  then  swung  left  with 
his  blow,  pivoting  on  the  balls  of  both  feet,  and  Ruddy 
read  the  newspaper  account  of  that  episode  while  honey- 
mooning in  the  Alps.  "The  war  ended  too  soon  for  Ned," 
was  his  comment.  "He  hasn't  had  fight  enough  yet." 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  387 

He  was  to  get  it,  poor  fellow,  in  more  ways  than  one. 
His  big-hearted  general  was  feeling  not  a  little  disturbed 
in  mind  about  him.  He  little  knew  how  very  sore  was 
Freeman's  heart,  and  how  sensitive  his  spirit,  two  things 
that  tell  heavily  on  the  temper. 

But,  as  has  been  said,  persistence,  with  proximity, 
works  wonders.  To  many  a  soldier  in  those  days,  just 
after  the  war,  there  was  ordained  long  banishment  from 
sight  of  a  beloved  face,  but  to  Freeman  fell  the  torment 
of  almost  daily  looking  and  longing.  Never,  said  those 
who  knew  her,  had  Frances  Morgan  seemed  so  bewitch- 
ingly  gay,  so  exquisitely  pretty,  as  during  the  two  years 
of  social  queendom  that  were  hers  while  headqaarters 
remained  at  Nashville,  and  her  father's  old  friend  in 
supreme  command.  To  be  truthful,  one  must  admit  that 
Mistress  Fan  flirted  conspicuously,  if  not  outrageously, 
with  every  dancing  man  who  came  her  way,  for  dances 
were  many,  and  every  dance  a  measure  treading  on  poor 
Ned  Freeman's  heart.  Dancing  was  something  forbid- 
den him.  The  old  Murfreesboro  wound  still  threatened 
at  times,  and  that  weakened  artery  had  to  be  humored. 
Glum,  gloomy,  miserable,  the  tall  voung  fellow  could  only 
hover  about  the  doorways,  looking  and  longing,  yet  fol- 
lowing on  from  one  scene  of  gaiety  to  another,  her 
shadow  ever.  They  all  went  down  to  New  Orleans  the 
early  spring  of  '67  for  the  lovely  wedding  that  "made 
Freeman's  two  inamoratas  sisters-in-law,"  as  Fulmer  put 
it,  and  made  Freeman  furious,  thereby,  for  an  entire 
week.  Sheridan,  Thomas,  and  McCook,  of  the  old  Army 
of  the  Cumberland,  were  there  to  grace  the  occasion,  and 


388  The  Rock  of  thickamauga. 

with  soldier  cordiality  to  greet  Buckner,  Beauregard,  and 
Dick  Taylor,  of  their  late  antagonists.  It  was  the  blithest 
affair  that  New  Orleans  had  Known  since  the  days  before 
the  giins  of  Farragut  came  thundering  past  the  forts  and 
frowning  over  the  battle-field  of  Chalmette.  "But  Free- 
man's face,"  said  his  tormentor,  "was  enough  to  make 
one  think  it  all  a  funeral."  There  was  a  charming  series 
of  receptions  and  cotillions  at  Nashville,  Louisville,  and 
Cincinnati,  whereat  Miss  Morgan  nearly  danced  her 
pretty  feet  off,  and  Freeman  gnawed  his  mustache.  It 
pleased  her  to  be  unspeakably  merry  with  him — tantaliz- 
ing, teasing,  and  winsome  by  turns.  His  utter  devotion  to 
her  became  the  talk,  as  his  misery,  it  must  be  owned, 
became  the  laugh  of  the  beaux  and  belles  of  society. 
"My  soul,"  said  Fulmer,  finally,  "she'll  worry  that  poor 
fellow  gray-headed  in  another  year  of  this."  And  indeed 
this  was  not  hyperbole. 

But,  though  she  would  not  yield  to  Freeman's  suppli- 
cations, it  was  certain  that  Miss  Fan  succumbed  to  no 
one  else,  and  suitors  there  were  who  might  well  have 
tempted  any  girl.  Freeman  should  have  read  hope  in 
this,  but  he  found  nothing  but  despond.  At  last  one  eve- 
ning, an  old,  familiar  friend,  a  dear  one,  took  it  upon  him- 
self to  approach  the  imperious  young  beauty — not  so 
young  how  by  nearly  seven  years  as  when  first  she  fa^ci- 
nated  our  stripling  soldier — and  thus  did  her  grave-voiced 
senior  say  to  her :  "This  is  getting  very  serious,  Paquita 
mla.  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  mean  to  do  with  this 
unhappy  aide  of  mine?" 

She  looked  up,  brimful  of  mischief,  first;  but  melting 


The  Rock  of  phickarriaiiga. 


at  the  grave  concern,  if  not  reproach,  in  the  silver-f)lue 
eyes.  It  was  to  our  general  she  made  her  first  confession  : 

"Will  you  promise  never  to  tell  —  until  I  give  you 
leave?  Then,  I  mean  —  to  marry  him,  fcut  —  he  doesn't 
know  it.  He'd  never  guess  I  meant  to  —  all  along." 

But  there  came  a  day  when,  long  before  her  resolution 
would  have  given  out,  her  love  betrayed  her.  She  had 
been  riding  with  a  devotee  wjiose  horsemanship  was,  as 
Fulmer  said,  "his  longest  suit,"  and  Freeman,  with  male- 
diction at  his  new  misery,  had  watched  them  canter  away, 
and  then  had  gone  raging  up  the  Cumberland,  contem- 
plating flight  or  self-destruction.  A  very  imp  of  mischief 
had  possessed  Fanny  Morgan  that  afternoon.  She  }iad 
tormented  Freeman  into  open  revolt,  a  threat  £o  resign 
from  the  staff,  and  to  join  his  regiment  on  the  Indian 
frontier.  She  had  lured  her  latest  adorer  into  open 
avowal  and  tumultuous  reproaches.  She  had  brought  on 
an  access  of  nerves,  and  temper,  that  told  on  her  spirited 
mount,  to  the  end  that  he,  too,  like  Freeman,  took  the  bit 
in  his  teeth  and  actually  ran  away.  As  luck  and  mercy 
would  have  it,  their  respective  orbits  of  flight  intersected 
on  a  bluff,  and  at  a  sharp  turn,  and  Freeman  saw  her 
coming,  swift,  straight,  and  helpless  to  destruction. 

When  they  pulled  him  out,  a  minute  later,  from  a  tan- 
gle of  plunging,  kicking  hoofs  and  equine  insanity,  she, 
safe,  but  terror-stricken,  had  flung  herself  upon  him, 
with  the  low  cry,  "Are  you  hurt?  —  is  it  bleeding?  Lift 
him  there,  quick  !"  she  orcjered,  pointing  to  a  bench,  an4 
then,  down  on  her  knees  in  the  dust,  with  her  own  hands, 
white,  nervous,  but  unerring,  with  her  sweet  face,  set  and 


390  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

strong,  she  had  twisted  his  handkerchief  about  the  leg, 
turned  her  crop  into  a  tourniquet,  and  there  she  gave 
clearly,  collectedly  her.  rapid  orders  to  the  astonished  few 
and  her  crest-fallen  escort,  now  hovering  about  her.  "By 
Jove!  sir,"  ruefully  said  Captain  Curbit  at  the  club  that 
night,  "she  must  have  been  studying  surgery  with  that 
very  end  in  view." 

It  was  useless  thereafter  to  deny  the  truth — or  Free- 
man. It  was  in  this  wise  his  long  and  wistful  wooing 
came  to  its  blissful  close.  Old  Wharton,  medical  direc- 
tor of  the  department,  had  been  her  professor.  He  was 
there  now  to  receive  her  patient  as  the  carriage  drove 
them  home,  and  to  order  him  in  limbo,  and  reclining 
chair,  for  the  rest  of  the  week.  But  there  was  no  need 
to  detail  a  nurse. 


There  had  been  a  season  when  the  nation  seemed  deter- 
mined to  set  Thomas  on  a  pedestal  above  his  fellows,  to 
so  shower  him  with  reward  of  every  conceivable  kind  as 
to  rebuke  those  who  so  long  had  slighted  him.  But 
Thomas  himself,  ever  most  loyal  to  "others  in  authority," 
proved  a  stubborn  barrier.  In  the  new  chief  magistrate, 
Andrew  Johnson,  of  Tennessee,  Thomas  had  a  most  en- 
thusiastic admirer,  one  who  was  ready  to  listen  to  almost 
any  scheme  for  Thomas's  advancement,  but  it  soon  was 
found  that  the  sturdy  soldier  would  accept  nothing  be- 
yond that  which  came  as  the  due  and  proper  reward  of 
his  soldiership.  To  the  surprise  of  a  number  of  lavish 
and  well-meaning  fellow  citizens,  the  gifts  that  began  to 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  391 

rain  upon  him  went  straightway  back  to  the  donors.  Just 
as,  with  the  coming  of  another  year,  he  rebuked  the  move 
to  name  him  as  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency;  just  as  he 
refused  the  brevet  of  lieutenant-general ;  just  as  he  would 
accept  no  address  or  testimonial  that  reflected  in  terms  on 
the  methods  or  motives  of  his  superiors,  so,  too,  he  de- 
clined, civilly,  but  firmly,  the  tender  of  presents  from  the 
people  at  large.  It  was  simply,  he  said,  against  his  princi- 
ples. For  two  years,  in  fact,  he  kept  himself  almost  in 
seclusion  in  the  Southwest,  until,  as  it  is  pretty  sure  to  do, 
public  clamor  died  away  when  there  came  nothing  new  to 
spur  it. 

Nashville,  the  scene  of  his  greatest  battle,  became  for 
the  time  his  soldier  home  and  station.  Here,  with  his 
staff  and  friends  about  him,  he  lived  the  while  in  serene 
content,  busy  with  his  duties,  envying  no  man.  It  was 
not  until  the  third  year  of  the  new  administration  that  he 
begged  to  be  relieved  from  service  in  the  South.  Those 
of  us  who  saw  the  working  of  the  reconstruction  meas- 
ures then  demanded,  could  well  see  why.  Then  came 
orders  for  the  far  Pacific,  the  command  of  that  great,  un- 
troubled division,  the  prospect  of  years  of  health,  peace, 
and  competence.  Thither,  gratefully  and  rejoicefully  he 
turned  his  eyes.  There,  all  too  soon  and  suddenly,  those 
unflinching  eyes  were  closed  forever.  At  the  moment  in 
his  own  career  when  Freeman  felt  that  happiness  was  his 
at  last,  there  came  his  first  great  sorrow.  His  benefactor, 
his  beloved  general,  lay  there  before  him,  the  leonine 
head  pillowed,  calm  and  reposeful,  as  on  that  night  at 
Chickamauga,  the  noble  features  placid  as  though  soothed 


392  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

by  touch  of  the  Omnipotent  hand,  awaiting  in  soldier 
slumber  the  clarion  call  of  the  great  and  final  reveille, 
secure  in  the  consciousness  of  duty  nobly  done,  serene  in 
the  faith  that  never  wavered,  asleep  like  weary  child  in 
the  peace  of  God  that  passeth  understanding. 


L'ENVOI. 

Storm  and  sunshine  in  alternation  fell  on  Freeman's 
pathway  in  the  years  that  came.  He  had  made  luckless 
choice  of  a  profession,  for  never  in  all  the  history  of  the 
regular  army  was  it  so  ignored  by  Congress,  and  hum- 
bled by  the  press,  as  in  the  quarter  century  that  followed 
the  war  wherein  it  had  done  such  valiant  service.  Men 
who  joined  it  as  lieutenants,  in  the  flush  of  youth  and 
hope,  found  themselves  even  thirty  years  thereafter  lieu- 
tenants still,  gray-haired  and  grandfathers. 

One  after  another  every  prospect  of  advancement  was 
blocked.  One  after  another  almost  every  hope  of  reward 
was  stilled.  Cheered  and  blessed  by  the  presence  of  his 
devoted  wife,  Freeman  had  sought  duty  with  his  regi- 
ment, after  seeing  his  general  laid  away,  and  ere  long 
came  orders  declaring  him  "unassigned,"  with  the  pros- 
pect of  muster  out,  for  Congress  cut  down,  by  nearly  one- 
half,  the  infantry,  the  backbone  of  the  army.  His  war 
record  saved  him  and  secured  him  transfer  to  the  cavalry, 
entailing  five  years'  exile  and  Apache  fighting  under  the 
scorching  suns  of  Arizona,  another  five  years  of  almost 
incessant  campaigning  against  the  warriors  of  the  north- 
ern plains  and  mountains — campaigns  in  which  many  a 
gallant  comrade  of  the  war  days  fell  before  the  bullet  of 
Cheyenne  or  Sioux,  campaigns  in  which  men  starved 
and  froze,  ate  their  horses  to  keep  alive,  lost  fingers,  toes, 
and  ears,  but  learned  to  know  and  love  one  another  as  in 


394  The  Rock  of  Chickamauga. 

no  other  walk  in  life,  and  here  it  was  that  Freeman  won 
his  way.  There  were  occasional  winters  wherein  they 
dwelt  in  garrison,  almost  undisturbed;  and  about  their 
fireside,  with  fond  faces,  and  book  and  song  and  homelike 
cheer,  there  was  many  a  month  of  sunshine  and  sweet- 
ness. There  was  sunshine,  too,  in  many  a  summer  in 
saddle  in  the  glorious  mountain  ranges  of  Wyoming  and 
Montana,  where  Freeman  and  Freeman's  troop  were 
famous.  With  each  succeeding  year  he  grew  and  broad- 
ened, a  student  of  his  profession,  a  scholar  by  nature,  and 
a  man  whose  friendship  men  sought  and  swore  by,  for, 
once  won,  it  was  as  stanch  and  sure  as  the  soul  of  the 
great  leader  he  so  loyally  had  served,  so  deeply  loved, 
and  now  so  sadly  mourned.  Of  him,  his  one  hero,  he 
would  sometimes  talk  to  those  he  trusted,  but  only  those, 
for  even  twenty  years  after  the  volleys  flashed  their  part- 
ing salute  over  the  grave  of  our  general,  Freeman's  eyes 
would  fill  as  he  told  of  his  magnanimity,  his  simplicity, 
his  soldiership.  Twenty  years?  Yes,  thirty  and  more, 
even  after  other  generals  had  come  to  know  Freeman's 
ability  and  to  seek  his  services,  for,  though  bearing  no 
higher  rank,  after  a  quarter  century  of  soldiering,  than 
that  with  which  he  rode  to  battle  at  Nashville,  twice  and 
more  was  he  summoned  to  long  tours  of  staff  and  similar 
duty.  At  last  advancing  years,  and  the  hard  knocks  of  so 
many  a  hard  campaign,  told  on  a  frame  at  no  time  too 
robust,  and  half  around  the  world  he  came  to  rejoin  the 
loved  ones  of  his  little  home  circle,  glad  to  seek  retire- 
ment on  the  modest  rank  of  major  he  had  finally  attained. 
One  brilliant  January  morning,  but  a  few  years  back, 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  395 

an  old-time  comrade,  casually  in  Washington,  stood  near 
the  entrance  to  the  White  House,  watching  the  brilliant 
pageant  of  our  New-year's  day — -the  procession  of  offi- 
cers from  the  war  department  on  their  way  to  salute  the 
chief  magistrate  of  the  nation — a  babe  in  arms  when 
Ruddy  Rolfe  stood  accused  in  the  eyes  of  his  future  wife 
of  downright  persecution  of  her  beloved  brother.  The 
babe  had  grown  to  wondrous  strength  and  power,  the 
honored  md  the  chosen  of  a  mighty  people.  The  brother 
had  moved  along  in  the  sluggish  current  of  army  life, 
winner  of  many  <*  brevet,  but  of  little  more  substantial. 
There  came  Ruddy  now,  general  in  all  the  name  implied, 
one  of  the  foremost  among  the  array  of  gray-haired, 
florid-faced,  brilliantly  uniformed  veterans  at  the  head  of 
column.  More  than  two  score  they  numbered,  generals 
active  and  retired,  resplendent  in  their  epaulets  and 
sashes.  Then  the  plumed  chapeaux  gave  way  to  gold- 
banded  caps,  in  long  columns  of  twos,  for  now  came 
colonels,  a  double  dozen,  then  lieutenant-colonels  not  a 
few,  and  then,  how  young  looked  the  fresh,  clean-shaven 
faces,  with  the  keen,  bright  eyes,  the  glowing  cheeks! 
How  erect,  trim,  and  martial  were  these  blithe  fellows, 
some  of  them  almost  boyish,  none  of  their  number  gray ! 
And  then — what  had  we  here? 

Following  at  the  rear  of  the  column  of  majors,  inter- 
jected, as  it  were,  between  them  and  the  rearward  files  of 
captains  and  lieutenants  in  their  flat-topped  caps,  con- 
spicuous, incongruous,  came  four  olcl-fashioned,  brass- 
mounted  helmets,  their  plumes,  of  faded  red,  yellow,  or 


396  The  Rock  pf  Chickamauga. 

dingy  white,  fluttering  in  the  gentle  southerly  breeze. 
Foremost  of  the  four,  topped  with  flaunting  yellow,  the 
color  of  the  cavalry,  "cinched,"  as  said  irreverent  young- 
sters, by  tarnished  chin-strap,  a  grim,  soldierly  face,  with 
prominent  nose  and  iron-gray  mustache,  peered  forth 
over  the  roofs  of  the  preceding  heads,  and  presently  the 
absurd  old,  pincushioned,  shoulder-knots  hove  in  view; 
the  looped  helmet  cords  and  tassels.  On  the  manly 
breasts  of  those  in  his  immediate  front  there  gleamed  an 
occasional  cross  of  sharp-shooter,  or  insignia  of  some 
society  of  soldiers  of  the  recent  war  with  Spain,  but  on 
the  breast  of  him,  following,  as  ordered,  humbly  in  their 
rear,  there  shone  the  beautiful  ribbon  and  cross  of  the 
Military  Order  of  the  Loyal  Legion,  the  prized  insignia 
of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland,  and  pointed  star  of  the 
Order  of  Indian  Wars,  even  the  badge  of  service  in  the 
distant  Philippines — symbols  of  forty  years  of  fight  and 
hardship,  of  exile  and  privation,  forty  years,  beginning 
with  such  a  war  as  that  that  giants  waged  from  '61,  and 
all  this,  that  the  final  recognition  might  be  the  privilege  of 
trailing  in  the  wake  of  the  contemporaries  of  one's  own 
children. 

A  Gallic  little,  one-armed,  M.  C.,  "the  gentleman  from 
Louisiana,"  a  joy  in  diplomatic  circles  and  the  Metropoli- 
tan Club,  where  grizzled  Freeman,  too,  was  so  much  at 
home,  standing  close  at  hand,  tipped  his  beaver,  with 
laughing,  yet  courtly  grace  at  sight  of  our  veteran. 

"Ohe!  Mon  brave!"  he  hailed,  and  Freeman's  blue 
eyes  twinkled  whimsical  response.  "What  dost  thou  then 


The  Rock  of  Chickamauga.  397 

in  this  gallery?    Thou  art  of  our  party  square  for  lunch 
at  one." 

"Which,"  said  a  youthful  aide,  undreamed  of  when  his 
father  fought  at  Nashville,  unborn  even  when  his  sire 
battled  for  his  life  long  after  on  the  Little  Big  Horn, 
"which  was  rough  on  old  Freeman;  now  wasn't  it?" 


THE   END. 


NORMAN  HOLT 

BY  GENERAL  CHARLES  KING 


WHAT  THE  CRITICS  SAY 

"  A  pretty  love  story,  like  a  silver  thread,  winds  through  the 
story  and  orightens  and  lightens  the  dark  scenes  of  battle. 
•  Norman  Holt  '  is  like  a  sea  breeze  —  it  has  the  Sweep  and  dash, 
and  is  clean  and  wholesome."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Written  in  the  author's  most  spirited  manner,  and  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  battle  of  Mission  Ridge  is  singularly  vivid  and 
forceful."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"It  is  a  strong  story,  worthy  of  dramatization;  but  one  fears 
lest  it  fall  into  incompetent  hands,  and  so  loose  the  strong  high 
lights,  the  deep  background,  the  soft  mezzotints  which  the  author 
has  so  deftly  interwoven."  —  Indianapolis  Journal. 

"  It  is  a  swift  and  thrilling  story  of  action."  —  San  Francisco 
Call. 

"  One  meets  in  these  pages  real  human  beings.  There  is  not 
in  the  whole  book  a  dull  chapter."  —  Omaha  Bee. 

"The  story  is  among  the  best  General  King  has  produced.**— 
New  York  Times. 

"The  book  is  rich  in  romance,  thrilling  in  situation,  and  so 
intense  in  its  recital  that  the  reader  is  literally  hypnotized  with 
interest  from  the  very  first  lines.  It  is  General  King's  strongest 
work."—  Afcw  York  Press. 


"None  of  his  past  novels,  which  won  him  his  reputation  as 
one  of  the  notably  vivid  fiction  writers  of  the  country,  is  more 
dramatic  in  plot  and  stirring  in  action  than  •  Norman  Holt.'  "— 
San  Francisco  Bulletin. 


Beautifully  Bound  h  Cloth,  Illustrated,  $1.25 


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What  the  Critics  say  of 

TONIO,  SON  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

By  General  Charles  King 


"A  tale  of  the  Apache  war,  the  scene  being  laid  in  the  far  Southwest. 
The  story  is  one  of  rivalry  in  love  between  two  young  soldiers,  and  the 
lights  and  shades  of  character  are  so  nicely  drawn  that  the  reader  easily 
picks  the  winner  long  before  the  race  is  over.  Running  through  it  all, 
with  real  feeling  and  much  pathos,  is  the  story  of  the  faithful,  honorable 
highstrung  Indian,  Tonio.  It  gives  a  somewhat  new  view  of  the  wild 
man  of  the  prairies,  and  one  is  quite  content  to  accept  it  from  the  hands 
of  one  so  well  qualified  to  depict  it." — Arkansas  Democrat. 

"A  fine,  spirited  narrative  of  events  of  unusual  interest  and  of 'a 
phase  of  life  with  which  the  author  is  absolutely  familiar,  and  it  pos- 
sesses also  the  rarer  quality  of  a  keen  and  true  analysis  of  character  and, 
motive.  It  is  unquestionably  one  of  the  best  works  of  fiction  of  the 
season." — The  Nashville  American. 

"  The  story  is  written  in  General  King's  characteristic  style ;  action 
is  more  rapid  and  there  are  fewer  digressions  than  usual  with  him.  The 
tale  holds  the  interest  continuously,  the  reader  not  knowing  just  how  it 
all  will  end  until  he  reaches  the  final  chapter. " — Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  character  of  General  King's  stories  is  too  well  known  to  require 
explanation,  and  the  pathetic  history  of  Tonio  is  as  rich  in  romance 
and  as  thrilling  in  incident  as  its  many  entertaining  predecessors. 
The  descriptions  of  army  life  in  Arizona  some  years  ago  are  especially 
interesting." — Toledo  Blade. 

"Is  well  constructed  and  moves  along  with  a  dash  and  fullness  of 
incident  that  holds  the  reader's  constant  attention." — Louisville  Courier 
Journal. 

"  '  Tonio  '  is  marked  by  the  wealth  of  stirring  incident,  and  the  detail 
of  frontier  soldier  life  which  testify  in  all  General  King's  books  to  the 
author's  vivid  imagination  and  familiarity  with  military  affairs.  There 
are  pages  of  stirring  battle  scenes." — New  York  World. 

"  There  is  lots  of  life  to  the  book.  It  will  make  a  pleasurable  addi- 
tion to  the  summer  luggage." — The  Cleveland  Leader. 

"  No  one  is  more  capable  of  writing  an  army  story  than  General  King, 
and  this,  his  latest,  is  one  of  his  best,  holding  the  reader's  attention  to 
the  end." — The  Bookseller,  Newsdealer  and  Stationer. 

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